


Black Stars and Supernovas

by EmilyElm



Category: Adam (2009), Charlie Countryman (2013), Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Adam and Nigel teach Will and Hannibal how to get out of the friendzone, Adam has moved to Cali so he's a little different, Adam is WIll's cousin, But he really needs to sort out his feelings for Han, Everyone is upset with each other, If only they would listen, M/M, Mainly because Hobbs, Mild Sexual Content, Nigel is an ex-con and Han's twin brother, Strangely similar-y to canon and yet different-y, The kind of therapy that would only benefit Will Graham, Trouble ahead with the syndicate Uncle Robertus is running, Up to you to decide if it works, Will wants to commit himself, Will's on a downward spiral, mild violence, that's not saying much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-21 09:13:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6046087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmilyElm/pseuds/EmilyElm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will is feeling like all of his thoughts are being threaded through the lens of Garrett Jacob Hobbs' POV and it gets him thinking about family and his future with Hannibal.  Instead of acting on his feelings, he decides to take a much needed "rest" away from home.  He doesn't want anyone to know so he brings his cousin Adam in to watch his dogs while he's gone.  Hannibal has a surprise of his own -- his family is converging all at once at his home, including his twin brother, Nigel.  Nigel and Adam may need to show Hannibal and Will how to jump in and think about consequences later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blue Moon

**Author's Note:**

> This is for SpaceDogs week. I hope I caught all the tags. Please send me a message on hanfangrahamk at tumblr if I missed something. Thanks for reading!

Will Graham knows that he’s changed after shooting Garrett Jacob Hobbs. It’s not just the vision of Hobbs appearing mystically by his side. It’s much, much worse. It goes to the very core of who he believes himself to be and that belief is shattering into a million pieces. With maybe a 60% chance of putting himself back together again. 

 

He knows he needs help. But how can he explain that his thoughts are Hobbs’ thoughts? Hobbs’ desires have somehow replaced his own and Hobbs is dead. Who would understand this? He can’t comprehend it himself or how to burrow back into himself. So he lists amongst the shadows and silence, darkly and with dread.

 

Before the shooting, Will was content with being alone. He’d walk into a crab house along the Baltimore Inner Harbor in Fell’s Point and order a half dozen to put away with a pitcher of beer. The waitress would ask if anyone was joining him and he’d politely say no. And then she would come back and ask why was he eating alone. It didn’t bother him, in the least, his own company, and he pushed aside the nagging sensation that something wasn’t normal with treating himself to a meal. 

 

Right after the shooting, he went back to his motel room to get clean. Wiped the blood off his face. Changed his clothes. Returned to his mind’s eye to the crab house and his checkered table and its place settings for four. That’s when he knew he wasn’t himself. He didn’t want to eat alone anymore. 

 

He considered who would join him, in this new Hobbsian influenced life. His co-workers? Beverly? But he makes her uncomfortable, and with some guilt, he scratches her off the list. And the guys – Jack, Jimmy, Zeller – are definitely not even up for consideration.

 

Alana is complicated. He has to approach her on a slant, it feels, at all times, to get around how often she will say “no”. And knowing his luck, she would say no, even in his own fantasy. So no Alana, because he’s going to strike that blow first.

 

He needs people who will not judge him. Who accept him for who he is, whatever that means. And those folks are few and far between, including family. His uncle, in New York, his mother’s brother, used to keep in touch (certainly more than she did, but that’s not saying much). Uncle Steve died a few years ago. Will still gets a regular holiday gift from his little cousin, Adam Raki, who probably isn’t little anymore. Although he still sends the same aftershave for Christmas. 

 

Adam’s definitely on the spectrum. Will spent a half summer once up in New York with the Raki’s, when Steve was alive. His empathy had him copying some of Adam’s mannerisms so when he returned to high school, he was able to manage the incoming bully missiles a little bit easier. 

 

In some ways, he owes Adam for getting him through the those teenage years until now. He hasn’t seen Adam in years, and Hobbs has needled him into realizing he should rectify that. Family, he thinks as Hobbs would think, is everything. 

 

Will digs up Adam’s holiday letter that he never opened from last year. It reads as major breakthroughs happened in Adam's life. Adam has gotten better about travelling and trying new things. He’s relocated to California, and secured a new job and new girlfriend. He’s still into space and walking among the giant redwood trees in the Sequoia Park. 

 

So Will finds himself sitting amongst the redwoods, spreading out a checkered tablecloth on the forest floor. Abigail is there, because of course she is. She's his daughter now. And Adam acts as a nice buffer, in case there was any awkwardness between them, over killing her father and all. Speaking of someone who could smooth of anything, Hannibal arrives. The psychiatrist he is getting to know. Picnics and psychoanalysis, who knew? But Hannibal has made him smile and he makes Hannibal smile and how’s that for his newfound family? 

 

Will shakes the image of the picnic – it’s too much, too fast – and feels the walls closing in on him in the little motel room. The dinette where he’d had breakfast with Hannibal is about the size of the table at the crab house. He pictures the four of them there instead – Hannibal, Abigail, Adam and himself. Adam won’t eat crabs and the Old Bay spice and mullets repulse him. He deems the entire dining arrangement as barbaric and violent and regales Abigail about how crabs eat all the dead things along the bottom of the sea. She begins to dry heave. And Hannibal may not want to get his hands that dirty, pulling out the “mustard” of reproductive organs and exoskeleton to get to the plump white meat. 

 

He regards his tableau, the barbaric meal that his family is rejecting spectacularly and meets Hannibal’s gaze. Mirth lines his eyes. He is amused, as he had been on the drive to Hobbs’s house, getting to see the inner workings of the FBI. Adam comforts Abigail, with sweet hugs and a handy napkin. Will and Hannibal steal a glimpse of the two kids bonding and smile at each other again. Under the table, Will reaches for Hannibal’s hand and squeezes. 2.5 kids and the white picket fence and all that. This is Hobbs’ dream, and shockingly, surprisingly now his, and it’s reflected in Hannibal’s kind eyes. 

 

As his imaginary dinner descends into utter weirdness, Will feels compelled to go for a real drive. Clear his crowded thoughts, and all. He replaces images of Hobbs stutter-stepping after every shot with a more pleasant picture of sitting down to meal with Abigail and Adam at a diner. No complaints this time. Everyone is happy to order what they love and Hannibal sits beside him, still gripping his hand. Hannibal leans in closer to whisper in his ear, “Order for me.”

 

He considers Hannibal. Never took him for that kind of guy. He is softer here. Shyer. He glances down at the turkey club Will ordered for him, overwhelmed. He holds up the quarter of the club to his lips devouring it, whole. 

 

Will is struck that Hannibal expects him to take the lead and trusts him to take care of him – body, mind and soul. His breath is taken away by the power of it. He’s all at once terrified and enchanted. It propels him to lean over and give Hannibal’s lips a quick peck. Their eyes meet again. Hannibal welcomes it. He wants this just as much as Will does. To the groans of the young’uns, the two engage in a deeper kiss in the diner booth. 

 

Will grips his steering wheel, disgusted with himself. His mind always goes straight to Fucktown for no rhyme or reason. Hannibal is definitely not that type of guy and Will would never, ever cross that line. He is reaching big time, for any type of driftwood floating along his stream, to drag his ass to shore. He is not drowning, not yet, and when he looks around, his stream gives way to a parking lot. He’d somehow managed to land himself at the closest hospital to Abigail’s house. For a long moment, he considers his surroundings, freaked out how he got through the gate holding an actual ticket and finally decides to just go with it. He’s here. It doesn’t matter that he can’t remember how he’d managed that.

 

By the time Will finds himself on the floor to Abigail’s hospital room, he has calmed down. Being closer to Abigail (because Hobbs) has that affect on him. And facing a protective nurse, he is glad for that. 

 

A desk nurse blocks his way to Abigail’s room, but only because he needs to answer her questions. “Who are you to Abigail Hobbs?” she wants to know. “Why exactly are you here?”

 

And Will responds, “I’m family.”

 

*

 

Her parents, if they were present, would have told Abigail that her face, when she sleeps, still looks the same as when she was a newborn. Will shudders at the invasive thoughts of Garrett Jacob Hobbs. Of what he considered as he looked at baby Abigail, at what he considers looking through Will’s eyes now.

 

Will gazes down at her, the picture of innocence, struck by the ringing sound of “daughter” floating in his word cloud now. He suppresses the urge to stroke her wind-chaffed cheek, especially since Hannibal sits next to her, asleep. 

 

For a moment, lost in the echo chamber of “daughter”, Will is grateful that Hannibal has joined him in taking care of Abigail. He realizes he no longer wants to be the man who can walk into a crab house and ask for a table for one.

 

*

 

If only Will’s imagination extended to the fact that Hannibal rarely sleeps. Nor dreams. 

 

Hannibal, too, wants to convey a picture of innocence. Knowing how the image will grip Will’s heart. He waited for this moment, for Will to enter the room. He could smell Will coming down the hall, before he even crossed the threshold, and it took all of his control to keep his eyes bolted shut. He wanted to see Will feast his eyes on the tableau he created in the most important juncture of their burgeoning life together.

 

Will settles down into the seat on Abigail’s left, but he can’t sit still. Even for a minute. Even in a clear fit of exhaustion. He tosses and turns – in a chair. Hannibal allows a gasp of breath escape audibly from his lips and Will scrapes his chair to glance over. Their eyes meet across Abigail’s comatose form. 

 

A pregnant silence sits between them. Each one of their hands holds one of Abigail’s hands. This is not lost on Will. Will clears his throat.

 

“You didn’t leave…” Will observes, as a manner of greeting, confirming for Hannibal that this moment has been a victory for him. Will translates Hannibal’s look for a psychoanalytic assault, silently berating himself for conveying too much, too soon. He quickly corrects: “You didn’t leave her side.”

 

“It’s tough being alone, but tougher being alone in a hospital,” Hannibal matches with his own observation.

 

“Everyone leaves, though,” Will finishes, brooking no argument.

 

“True,” Hannibal nods and rises to his feet. He pulls his gaze away from Will and feasts his eyes on Abigail’s face. Will is able to take in Hannibal fully now. His ungelled bangs hanging over his eye. The 5 o’clock stubble. The wrinkled suit. The three of them have emerged from the day looking how Will feels. 

 

“I do have to leave,” Hannibal admits, eyes averted, “but I will be back.” 

 

It grips Will, how badly he wants Hannibal to stay. How desperately he hopes Hannibal won’t let him down, like everyone else. He’d have to give him a reason to return to them, but he doesn’t have enough confidence to feel that he’s enough. For someone like Hannibal, he needs something more. Will looks away. 

 

“I hope I can see you again, Will,” Hannibal manages. “Unfortunately, I got some rather surprising news. My brother is getting out of jail today.”

 

“Jail?” Will blurts out in surprise.

 

“It’s one of the reasons I was drawn into studying criminal behavior. My brother joined a gang when we moved here. I guess it made him feel part of something from home. He made a series of mistakes during a time when they considered men like him a generation of super predators.” 

 

“I remember that legislation. Unfortunate term,” Will mirrors Hannibal’s “embarrassment”.

 

Hannibal avoids eye contact as he adjusts his mask. He will test Will's moral code and see if it extends to reporting Nigel to Jack. “It’s one of the reasons I never left Baltimore after I got my degree. Nigel went in a teenager and now he’s coming out a man.”

 

“Twenty-five years?” Will guesses. “Attempted murder?”

 

Hannibal nods. He glances back at Abigail’s sleeping form. “I have to admit it’s easier to be here, than to face what awaits me at home. One’s chosen family is easier to deal with than what we were born into.”

 

This time, their eyes lock. Will doesn’t want to read too much into what Hannibal said. But neither does Hannibal shrink from it. So Will doesn’t either.

 

“Let me know if you need anything,” Will states. Hannibal lingers a moment longer, before nodding. Will looks after his departing figure.

 

After a few beats when it’s clear Hannibal is not going to return, he pulls out his phone and searches for “Nigel Lecter”. Hannibal’s digital footprint had been too massive to find anything of substance outside the society pages. Nigel’s history is barely a blip on the screen, but monumental, nonetheless. He went in under the super predator statutes before those were even considered out of bounds. At the time, he seemed to be a big fish, but Will knows better. He imagines what a coup it would be at the Justice Department to give them something more substantial in the Eastern European syndicate Nigel must still have ties to.

 

Nigel is like catnip for FBI agents. The temptation to keep tabs on him and report who he contacts on the outside is too great. Any information would certainly garner a commendation for Will and maybe even a transfer to the DOJ. As much as he wants to see more of Hannibal, Will resolves not to visit if Nigel’s around.

 

*

 

Hannibal takes in Nigel, he of the prison tats and the blood chilling stare. 

 

Nigel stares at Hannibal, he of the slicked back hair and dead eyes. 

 

They stand outside the prison gates in Jessup, taking in the slate gray skies over the Maryland State Penitentiary. The wide gulf of time sits between them. 

 

“Where do you want to go?” Hannibal breaks their awkward silence.

 

“The best fucking titty bar in town,” Nigel grins wide.

 

“Nigel,” he protests, lamely. “Let me cook for you. My butcher selected an excellent cut of – “

 

“Would you forsake your own brother his first drink as a free man?”

 

As Hannibal weighs this, Nigel grips Hannibal’s arm, trying to muscle him around, but Hannibal doesn’t budge. Nigel strokes the solid bicep, impressed. Hannibal watches him, almost daring him to say something about his body mass. Nigel picks up on the tension.

 

“Up to no good with arms like that?” 

 

Hannibal doesn’t dignify Nigel with a response. 

 

“You never used to be such a snob, Hannibal. You don’t want to be seen in public with me, I don’t blame you,” Nigel laughs. He slaps Hannibal’s face fondly and Hannibal draws a deep breath, as Nigel leans into his personal space again. 

 

They share a look. It’s clear – Hannibal doesn’t have to pretend who he is with Nigel. He’s with family.

 

*

 

Hannibal parks his Bentley on The Block, Baltimore’s infamous red light district that is a stone’s throw from City Hall and the Baltimore Police Department. This was Hannibal’s old stomping grounds when he was in his moody 20’s, a starving student at Johns Hopkins, prowling for the pickpockets and pimps who wouldn’t be missed. He regards the neon lights and hawkers with a nostalgic fondness, before adjusting his mask for Nigel.

 

“We can get killed down here,” Hannibal warns Nigel as he locks the car.

 

“Of course we can,” Nigel scoffs. “It’s fucking Baltimore.”

 

As Hannibal feeds the meter, he scans his surroundings. The Block has seen better days. Arson and slumlords have done the ragtag buildings few favors. The sidewalk crawls with the free range rude. Hannibal tilts his head up, determined not to go into a food coma amongst the crowd.

 

Nigel snakes through the tourists and the hustlers with ease and Hannibal reluctantly steps into Club Pussycat, a hole in the wall that is so dark and seedy inside Hannibal is afraid to put his hand on... anything. He crinkles his nose – people are allowed to actually smoke in here. No regard for the law. Only the smell of loss and decay and misery. His eyes adjust to the dark. In fact, he can sense that his inner lion feels right at home. He lets down his guard, a little. 

 

Nigel secures a barstool for Hannibal and they watch as a 65-year-old woman grinds against the pole. Her breasts hit her belly button, but she still has her moves. Hannibal has to get his wallet out, at the behest of Nigel, who is delighted. His eyes are alight and he has not stopped smiling since cracking open his fresh pack of cigarettes and taking a sip of his Budweiser. Of course, he would be allowed to smoke in here and practically blows a stream of smoke right in Hannibal’s face, who looks away from the assault.

 

“Oh, right, your sensitive nose. You know that particular affliction is very common in serial killers,” Nigel taps his nose in the universal gesture of “dead giveaway”. 

 

“You met a few in the Big House?” Hannibal quips. Nigel slides a bowl of bar pretzels towards him, and Hannibal declines that too.

 

“Here and there,” Nigel laughs. Hannibal notes that Nigel does that a lot, laughs at his own puns. Maybe Nigel’s not as smooth a criminal as he thinks himself to be. Hannibal’s phone buzzes and Hannibal frowns. An overseas number. Hannibal taps Nigel to get his attention: A text from their Uncle Robertus. He shows Nigel the message:

 

Glad Nigel’s out. We’ll all need to meet soon. 

 

The color drains from Nigel’s face. The mirth leaves his eyes. He looks offended as he directs his gaze at the door. “Business already?”

 

“A family visit,” Hannibal soothes him. “Or whatever you wish it to be.” 

 

He’d have to tell Robertus that Nigel is no longer ready for primetime. Prison has changed him. He’s curious to observe how. 

 

Nigel relaxes once more, but Hannibal becomes aware that his definition of family has shifted. The picture on the wall of his memory palace has him at the hospital with Will, holding Abigail’s hand. This business with Robertus is the least of his concerns.

 

Hannibal can’t hide the annoyance in his eyes as the stripper sidles over to Nigel and presses her breasts against his back, rubbing his shoulders. Nigel takes Hannibal’s thick wad of money from his wallet and slides it in her g-string and pats her on her bum. “Get yourself a couple of beers on us,” he tells her. He turns his attention back to Hannibal.

 

“Since you haven’t provided any fucking details, it’s looks like I’m in charge of this conversation,” Nigel complains. “Where’s your old lady, Han?” Nigel sucks down his beer as the stripper sends over another round. 

 

“Still a bachelor,” Hannibal holds up his ringless ring finger. 

 

“Guy like you, running around in a Bentley, a Doctor – hell, I’ve seen your picture in the paper. You actually go to the opera alone? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

 

Defensive: “Nothing. I go out. I have affairs… I met a man.”

 

Nigel’s eyes narrow at Hannibal. He grows still, as if his universe has turned upside down. He points a finger at Hannibal.

 

“Now I have an excuse. I’ve been in prison. I’m not even going to pretend I didn’t let some cocksucker suck my cock. But you? When you have all this…” -- Nigel spreads his arms wide – “at your disposal.”

 

And with that, Hannibal throws his head back and laughs. 

 

*

 

Will goes through the motions of being a functional human being. Work, therapy, home. Hobbs has permeated every juncture. He can’t deny it any longer.

 

Killing has changed his thinking. 

 

The future, which he used to feel he could still write in the stars, is the one where Hobbs wants him married with kids, but if he were himself, he’d have to admit that’s completely out of reach. Bizarrely, he searches for an alternative, in the hopes that Hobbs will disappear. 

 

He calls Adam. Last time they talked, Adam was not in a good place either. Adam’s father had died. His neighbor in New York had broken his heart. It seems they were wallowing in their own personal hell, but what really broke their hearts that day was realizing they were all they had left in their gene pool. 

 

Will doesn't know what to expect when Adam picks up the phone this time. While he's happy to hear from Will, Adam sounds like he needs a vacation from sunny California. His new girlfriend met someone else. His job is seasonal, so work is slow. Will offers to fly him out for a few weeks, in exchange for keeping his dogs company for the "trip" he needs to take. When he returns, they’ll take the train to New York and see the old sights. 

 

It’s tempting, but Adam admits it will be harder for him to adjust if Will isn’t around. Will can’t promise he’ll be around. “I’ll get you used to the routine,” Will offers instead, “and I won’t be away long. We both need a break, Adam.”

 

Adam stands among the redwoods and looks up at the sky, hoping to find his answer in the clouds. 

 

*

 

Will strolls next to Hannibal and Abigail, feeling like a third wheel. Abigail is getting her land legs back after being bedridden for weeks. Because Hannibal was wise enough to suggest that a walk would be good for her. That led to her getting out of bed. Dressing for the day. Walking. Functioning. Illustrating that movement is life. 

 

Will takes in the facility. It would do him some good to check into a place like this. He needs a safe place where he can zone out and get back in his own head. He needs to rest. 

 

Will takes a seat beside her on the bench, exhausted. She needs a break, too. Despite their well-meaning intentions, they can only push her so far. 

 

“You act like you’re grieving, too,” Abigail observes. 

 

“I am,” Will admits.

 

“I’m sick of feeling this way.”

 

“Me, too.”

 

Hannibal hovers over them, soaking in how tired they both look. “Grief has its own schedule,” he tells them.

 

“I tell myself,” Will turns to her, "that we have to have empathy for ourselves. Give however long it will take to process what happened.”

 

She seems to regard him with new eyes. Riding on this moment, Will shares something that he’s been wanting to say to her for awhile now. “I may go away for a bit,” he explains, catching Hannibal’s look. “But I’ll be back.”

 

Abigail nods, understanding. She handles it well, but he’s surprised to find how hurt Hannibal seems. Even closed off and inscrutable, he picks up on the faint crease in Hannibal’s face. Will ignores it. He doesn’t want Hannibal to know that all the work he’s putting into Will is failing.

 

*

 

Will climbs into Hannibal’s Bentley, and braces himself for a confrontation with Hannibal.

 

Hannibal hasn’t started the car. Waiting for Will to come clean. When that's not forthcoming: 

 

“I don’t want to miss you, too, Will,” Hannibal states.

 

“I’m not going anywhere. My cousin is coming to town,” Will spills a half-truth instead. “I’m babysitting him for a few weeks.” 

 

“Isn’t he in his twenties?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Will catches how he sounds. Like an asshole as usual. He shudders at what Hannibal must think of him.

 

“He reminds me of myself,” Will now is as honest as he can be.

 

“I’d love to meet him. Dinner?”

 

“If you invite Abigail too,” Will pauses. The thought just occurred to him. “Is your brother still in town?”

 

“Yes. He sleeps all day and tomcats around all night. So he may or may not show up. More than likely, not. You’ll meet someone else though.” This is Hannibal’s reward for Will not mentioning Nigel to Jack and company. “My uncle’s in town for business. It’ll be good for our families to meet.”

 

Will wants to ask what this means. Is this Hobbs’ doing or his own desire coming to fruition? Who made this real?

 

*

 

Adam is in his twenties. It’s not how Will remembers him. At all. And yet, he is still eating the same food and wearing the same clothes. The dogs welcome him and immediately put him to ease. And even though Adam wants to stay inside and putz around on his wifi, Will remembers the lesson from Abigail’s visit.

 

“Let’s go for a walk,” he suggests. 

 

That’s all it takes with Adam. Once he becomes familiar with something, he feels safe. Within a few hours after he arrives at Will’s, he’s starting to feel right at home. And Adam is pleased about the stargazing they’re able to do at night. Will hadn’t given the full picture of how amazing his views are in Wolf Trap. He had packed his telescope for this reason and it was worth the extra luggage fee.

 

After spending most of the night looking upward, Will returns to earth and tries to prepare Adam for tomorrow’s dinner. 

 

“You’ll like Abigail,” Will insists. 

 

“Girls,” Adam starts and then shudders.

 

Will glances at him sideways. He puts a reassuring hand on Adam’s shoulder, comforting. 

 

“I like them,” Adam explains, “but they don’t like me.”

 

“Adam,” Will admonishes.

 

“No, I’ve tried. And tried. It’s never enough. I’m never enough.”

 

Will is grateful it’s so dark outside that Adam can’t see the tears rolling down his face.

 

*

 

Will has fixed the upstairs bedroom for Adam’s visit. He has given him the dogs’ schedule and Adam is determined to follow it to the letter. Adam sets his alarm for 6am to take the pack out for their morning walk. 

 

“Goodnight, Adam,” Will pronounces. 

 

He steps away from the bed, hoping that the jet lag will not disrupt Adam's sleep. Schedules are important to him and the flight had to have taken its toll. 

 

“Are you alright, Will?” Adam asks, just as Will turns off the lights.

 

Will stutter-steps, mimicking Hobbs’ final dance with Will, with life. “I’m great,” Will declares, shuffling out as fast as he can.

 

*

 

Bedelia Du Maurier sits across from Hannibal, her sharp eyes catching his gaze. 

 

“Hannibal,” she exhales, “you disappeared there for…” glancing at watch… “three minutes. For three minutes, you have been totally silent,” Bedelia tells him. “Where were you?”

 

Hannibal mimics her slight head tilt. He has always admired her mannerisms, her taste, her décor, and made them his own. She will know if he lies about this. 

 

“I have plans for tonight. I’m distracted,” he admits. 

 

“With Will Graham.” 

 

“He’s meeting my family,” he concedes.

 

Bedelia holds her shock in check. This is the first time Hannibal has mentioned his family in the five years he’s been coming to her. If she's honest with herself, it hurts. While she insisted on maintaining a professional distance, she's secretly always hoped Hannibal would pursue her. 

 

“What a rare gift,” she smiles, faintly. “Intimate.” And waits for him to share more.

 

She listens to another long silence. Finally, Hannibal’s resistance cracks.

 

“Will and I,” Hannibal falters, seeking clarity, “have gotten closer over Abigail. It’s only natural, with the work we do, to share a meal together when our families both happen to be in town.”

 

“I see,” Bedelia treads carefully. “You must enjoy his company very much to allow this.” 

 

And, she dares to add, “What do you think what you have with him is becoming, Hannibal?”

 

He exhales. Finally, she can sense they are close to a breakthrough in their session. He seems almost vulnerable. He considers the possibility that there is more than friendship between them.

 

“Will Graham is family to me,” Hannibal states simply. 

 

Their hour is up. 

 

*

 

As Hannibal steps outside, he takes in the yellows and golds of the Fall foliage alight in the dying rays of the afternoon sun and tilts his face up to the dull sunlight. It should be a beautiful scene to him. Any other time he would stop and record it to memory, but he is in no mood to linger.

 

He stalks towards his Bentley, and takes off for the drive home. Nigel should be picking up Robertus from BWI now. He’s sent a town car for Abigail. Will and Adam should be leaving Virginia shortly. Everyone would be descending on his house in a few hours. 

 

He finds himself on autopilot, turning onto 83 South towards Baltimore, before he cuts over 4 lanes of traffic to get off at the next exit. He pulls over for a moment and considers killing Will Graham. He falls on several scenarios, but the inspiration is not there. 

 

He takes the scenic Falls Road for the rest of his drive home, contemplating how he found himself in this predicament. Bedelia is right. He has never let anyone get so close. What is to be gained from this proximity when neither can afford to trust the other?

 

Like clockwork, his phone buzzes a text from Will:

 

I have Adam and his mac & cheese. I hope you have a microwave.

 

This should get interesting. 

 

*

 

Hannibal doesn’t worry about mundane things. Especially after getting his head shrunk. Maybe because he got his head shrunk he feels out of sorts. He clocks that he has whisked the salad dressing over five hundred times. Luckily, there is still some dressing left. 

 

The door clicks open. He’d given Nigel a key and he shakes off his unease as Nigel enters with Robertus in tow. 

 

He strides towards Robertus with purpose, kissing both cheeks European style. His uncle regards him for a long moment, soaking the brothers in. Robertus will say that being around Nigel and Hannibal remind him of being with his brother. It’s a bittersweet moment for the Lecters, to not have Audra with them. 

 

Robertus is the picture of elegance, despite the 8-hour flight. His tailored suit is impeccable and he looks nothing like the head of a European syndicate should. In truth, Hannibal owes his survival skill set to Robertus. He learned from the best.

 

Nigel takes Robertus’ luggage up to the guest room and Hannibal pours them a glass of wine. They clink their glasses together for a toast. Robertus gets right down to business.

 

“Nigel needs to go back to work.”

 

“Agreed,” Hannibal states. “But Nigel claims he’s on permanent vacation. What did he tell you?”

 

“To fuck off,” Robertus sighs. A rueful laugh, but it still stings.

 

“Can we blame him?” Hannibal attempts to take out some of the bite.

 

Nigel saunters into the kitchen, with Abigail on his arm. “Hannibal, I would’ve happily picked up Abigail had you told me she was coming.” 

 

“Surprise,” Abigail says, by way of introduction. Robertus gives her a warm smile and cups her face. 

 

“Who, may I ask, is this, Hannibal?” Robertus pretends to love surprises. 

 

“What have you been hiding from us?” Nigel is tickled by this underage minx that wants to move into Hannibal’s house. He can’t believe Hannibal drew a line on sleeping with her. In Lithuanian, Nigel snickers, “I didn’t know you like them so young.” Hannibal shoots him a look. 

 

“This is Abigail,” Hannibal motions for Abigail to join him by his side. She looks uneasy. If she feels she’s surrounded by lions, it’s because she is. “Abigail is like a daughter to me. She would be a welcome addition to your business, Robertus.” 

 

“Call me Uncle Robertus,” Robertus says. “If Hannibal vouches for you, then you’re as good as gold.”

 

Abigail looks up at Hannibal, grateful. With Robertus’ full attention on her, Nigel knows to behave. He smirks over their heads at Hannibal, who is pleased by the reception she’s been given. Robertus once made him feel right at home, a long, long time ago.

 

He squeezes her arm and then moves to get the onion tart out of the oven for it to cool. The doorbell rings. Hannibal smoothes out his apron and starts towards the door. Nigel, however, has taken door duties upon himself, curious now about the little party Hannibal has planned.

 

Hannibal is nervous, he realizes, because he didn’t prepare Will for the hurricane that is Nigel. He hadn't expected Nigel to stay. It's like a perfect storm has descended on his house. 

 

But Will has a surprise, apparently, for him too. Will’s own doppelganger stands at his doorstep, looking like an absolute angel. His eyes, if possible, are wider than Abigail’s. His skin paler. His anarchy of curls revolt in a halo over his head. 

 

Hannibal watches as Nigel seems to be run over by him. He knows Nigel has sensed another equally turbulent force because he is completely silent in Adam’s wake. 

 

Adam has to extend his hand, since Nigel stands there, numbly. 

 

“I’m Adam. Are you Hannibal?” Adam turns his face up to Nigel’s, so sweetly.

 

“No,” Nigel spits out.

 

Hannibal moves in for the save. “Adam, I’m Hannibal. This is my brother, Nigel.”

 

He guides Adam inside. Adam thrusts a box of mac’n’cheese at Hannibal. Nigel helps him out of his coat. 

 

Will peers around the corner, having caught the exchange between Nigel and Adam. His research had prepared him for Nigel being Hannibal's twin, but in person, the sight of a looser, edgier looking Hannibal still rocks him to his core. He pulls his gaze away from them and does his best imitation of a smile at Hannibal. He holds another box. 

 

“We brought dessert,” Will explains.

 

He notes the signature on the box, Patisserie Poupon. “My favorite French bakery,” Hannibal expands.

 

“The best in Baltimore. Fraisier cake with strawberries and cream. Maple frosting.”

 

“A romantic choice. Many claim that strawberries are a stand-in for hearts.” 

 

Hannibal watches Will react to his boldness and shares his assumption: “Abigail’s close in age to Adam.”

 

Will sighs. Hannibal read romantic interest from the ingredients in a cake. Fuck. Nigel approaches, interrupting their repartee. He takes in Will. 

 

“I feel like I know you already,” Nigel tells him. “Hannibal talks about you often.”

 

Not exactly what Will was expecting, considering Hannibal has not breathed a word since Minnesota about Nigel. He has ex-felon written all over him. Hannibal has disappeared from his side to hang up Will’s coat. Will gives Nigel a tight smile.

 

“So, a 25-year stretch?” needles Will, by way of foot meet mouth.

 

“My youth stole my fucking youth from me,” Nigel shrugs. Water under the bridge. “How old is your cousin?”

 

Will squints, trying to remember the last birthday card he sent. “Twenty-one? No, twenty-three?” Maybe he’s too old for Abigail after all.

 

Will breathes a sigh of relief when Hannibal rescues him. They enter the kitchen side-by-side. The real surprise awaits. Robertus Lecter. The true super predator who should have done 5 consecutive terms. His aristocratic bearing does little to betray him as the suspected head of a branch of an Eastern European syndicate, but Will picks up on it anyway. 

 

What he’s curious about is why Hannibal is making this introduction. If he retreated for a moment, into the curve of his imagination, what would he see? Why would Hannibal so brazenly let the FBI know that Robertus was on American soil and that Nigel remained here? He couldn’t imagine Hannibal wanting to tip off that his family was planning something. That would only send Nigel back to jail.

 

He exchanges a look with Hannibal. Hannibal’s stance is wide, open, assured. He has the look of a man who would go to any length to protect his family. 

 

For once in his life, Will can’t see it. And reminds himself that this is a social call. Where he needs to pretend he can be remotely sociable. 

 

“You’re playing matchmaker now,” Will smiles after Hannibal introduces Adam to Abigail.

 

“He looks like you,” Hannibal notes and holds up the box of mac & cheese. “And he’s hungry.”

 

Hannibal gives his wolfish smile and draws Will and Adam over to shake Robertus’ hand. Will lingers over their handshake, as if he’s memorizing every line of Robertus’ face. He breaks away only when Abigail interrupts to give him a half-hug. Even her body language, Will surmises, is harsh to him. Adam drifts over to Nigel and merely gives her a wave. 

 

Will helps Hannibal with Adam’s dinner as Hannibal sets out the food in the dining room. A series of steaming plates march past Adam and Nigel. A large roast, thickly sliced. The onion tart. Grilled chard salad. 

 

“Good thing you brought your own dinner,” Nigel whispers to Adam. “I think I’ll have what you’re having.”

 

Adam can barely hide his laugh. Nigel wants to curse at this man’s beauty, at his youth, but he reminds himself he’s not in Jessup any longer. He needs to act like he has some fucking common sense around Adam and for that matter, Will. Will pretty much already has made up his mind about him. And for once in his life, Nigel actually cares about someone’s opinion other than his own. 

 

“Hannibal sat you next to your cousin, but you see enough of him, don’t you?” 

 

Adam steals a glance at Will, who is helping Hannibal out of his apron. “It’s been years, but what’s another hour.”

 

“I should show you where the bathroom is,” Nigel says in his best host voice.

 

“You’re planning a great escape?” Adam’s delivery is deadpan. Apparently, he’s managed to look up Nigel’s vitals since entering Hannibal’s house.

 

“Only if you come with me. How old are you anyway?”

 

Adam glances over his shoulder as he slips away behind Nigel. "Twenty-five years old," Adam answers. Will is showing Robertus and Abigail the cake, while Hannibal is sniffing a cork from the wine bottle. No one will miss them.

*

 

Adam and Nigel reach the half-bath on the second floor. They stand on opposite sides of the door from each other. Adam drifts slightly into the bathroom, catching a glimpse of the moon in the sunroof. 

 

“I think Will was hoping Abigail would be here,” Adam says just to break the silence between them. “He probably wants her to check in on me while he’s gone.”

 

Nigel says nothing, simply mesmerized by Adam and his voice. 

 

“Will’s going away for awhile,” Adam offers. “His mother had to go away for a long while too. As in, forever. So, there’s that.” 

 

Silence.

 

“I should probably talk to Abigail about coming over,” Adam drones on. “Maybe you can come with her.”

 

Adam sees Nigel stepping to him too late. He’s unprepared for the contact and stumbles flat on his back on the bathroom floor. Nigel climbs on top of him and crushes his lips to Adam’s. Adam can barely breathe from the heaviness of Nigel's body spread on top of him, from the weight of the kiss. 

 

“Is everything alright up there?” Will calls out. 

 

They can hear Will moving from the dining room to the staircase. He is almost halfway up the stairs before Nigel relents.

 

Nigel pulls away and Adam scrambles to his feet, flustered and breathless. He exchanges a look with Nigel, a flush spreading to his ears. 

 

“Yes, I just tripped,” Adam cries out. “I’m fine.”

 

Will stops his ascent, trusting him. He returns to the dining room.

 

Adam peers at Nigel, who pounces again, but this time, Adam is ready for him. He meets his mouth just as eagerly and presses him against the wall. He is being the aggressor and he likes the power that surges through him as he matches Nigel’s passion and touches. Beth and Kelli hadn’t shown this much enthusiasm when he’s had sex with them. It excites him, seeing Nigel straining and gasping to get closer to him. 

 

Their pants slide down their legs and then their hands are in each other’s underwear. Adam is struck by how different this experience really will be. He muffles his scream, twitching, as Nigel grips him perfectly and begins stroking him. Adam tries to mimic Nigel’s movements with Nigel’s own cock, but he can’t keep pace as Nigel has brought him so close.

 

Adam grips Nigel around his neck, stunned at this turn of events and hanging on for dear life. He fixes his gaze on the curve of Nigel’s lips and then the tip of his nose and finally his eyes. Nigel stares back at him, totally in the moment. 

 

Adam rocks into Nigel’s hand, his legs quivering. He manages to lift up on his tiptoes as he spills onto his stomach. His hands are shaking as he reaches up to cradle Nigel’s cock in his palm again. Nigel is soaking Adam’s hand shortly thereafter too. 

 

Their foreheads bump as they gasp for air. Nigel’s breath is his breath. And then the world seems to shatter around them. Their hearts explode. One thought crosses their mind at the exact same time: And that's that.

 

*

 

Two seats remain unoccupied at Hannibal’s table. Robertus wants to wait for Nigel and Adam since he knows Hannibal slaved over this meal, but Hannibal insists that everyone start eating. He glances over at Will, concerned. Will shrugs in response. He isn’t surprised if Adam got lost in Hannibal’s house or convinced Nigel to take him outside to stargaze. 

 

Abigail is charmed by Robertus. But on closer inspection, she picks up on the criminal lurking underneath the 3-piece suit. And after meeting Nigel… well, she gives Hannibal a second glance, her dinner forgotten. Is anyone who they’re cracked up to be?

 

Robertus attempts to recover from Nigel’s rudeness. “Will,” he intones, “how do you know Hannibal?”

 

Not well enough, Will wants to answer, in the Biblical sense, but stuffs some onion tart into his mouth to prevent himself from blurting that out. And where the hell is Adam? His mac’n’cheese is congealing and they didn’t bring another box of it. 

 

Will swallows and reaches for his wine. Now’s as good a chance as ever to get this out. “I teach at the FBI Academy. We all met during a case,” he glances across at Abigail and pauses. She shoots him a look, as if to say he’s said enough. 

 

Robertus is a smart man. And Hannibal is a generous one. He senses the tension and connects the dots to how tragedy must’ve brought the three together. 

 

“A friend of mine has asked me to help him on a case in Kentucky, Hannibal,” Will continues, this idea suddenly arriving to him. “Several real estate agents have been attacked when they’ve been alone at an open house. I’ll probably be gone for about a week on that case.”

 

Will is impressed with the lie he's told. He can run with this. And he needs the space. Committing himself to a week’s rest in a nice facility somewhere should do the trick to get rid of Hobbs. He wants to be able to distinguish who he is from one conversation to the next. With Abigail’s gaze boring down on him, he feels ready to tip over. 

 

Hannibal reaches for his glass of wine and then stops, as if detecting the lie. He looks over at Will. He starts to say something, and then Adam appears in the doorway. Hannibal can smell Nigel on him. He takes a deep drink of wine. The irony, the swiftness with which Nigel was able to get laid, and Hannibal here working for over a month to get out of the friendzone. 

 

“Where’s Nigel?” Will asks, picking up on the scent of danger all around them. 

 

“He’s coming,” Adam announces, as he takes his seat. In short order, Nigel enters. 

 

Nigel can’t help but smirk, extremely pleased by this surprising turn of events. Which disappears when he meets Hannibal’s gaze. There’s a storm brewing in those eyes. Nigel steals a glance at Adam, forgetting about his plans to excuse himself from the party and go out to the nightclubs. After saying what he had to say to Robertus, there was no point in sticking around, but considering Adam, he surmises that things have definitely changed. There's no other place he'd rather be. 


	2. Rogue Waves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abigail is drawn into the Lecter business. Nigel pays Adam a visit. Hannibal rats his brother out and this pushes Will over the edge. Will's determination to get Hobbs out of his head may put everyone in danger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tags have changed. Please note that there is an uptick in violence, threats are made and some characters are put in threatening situations.

While Adam attempts to chew his cold and inedible dinner, his mind drifts back to the proto-moment in the bathroom. 

 

“I want to see you again,” Nigel had drawn him close afterwards, his lips tickling his earlobe. Nigel’s voice was husky and still thick with desire. Adam was afraid he’d get hard again and then what would they do? He doesn’t want to think about that.

 

Nigel slipped his thumbs along Adam’s neck, down to his hairless chest, and began growling. Growling like a tiger. And it was so hot, knowing Nigel wanted to devour him, thinking of the ways he would do so. 

 

Adam feels tears rush to his eyes. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He’s going to get hard again. 

 

None of this was going the way he expected it to. He thought he was going to get a tour of the upstairs and some advice on how to fit a teenage girl into the dog schedule without an organizing slip. 

 

“See me again for what?” asked Adam, to interrupt the continuous growl, while looping his belt back into his khakis. 

 

Nigel gave him a look that makes it clear he should know what. Adam blushed.

 

“I’m not… I’ve never… Men,” Adam managed to sputter out.

 

He desperately needs someone to process this for him. In his own way, he somehow explained this need to Nigel. So Nigel tried to explain what “bisexual” is. Not a term he’s heard before. Adam asked about Nigel’s bisexuality at least three times before the definition truly sunk in. And then Nigel shared that he wanted to make him more “cosmopolitan” and take him to “the Continent” because everyone should see the world.

 

Adam doesn’t have the heart to tell him what it took for him just to get to Baltimore. Nothing about what happened rests easy for him. He has to go back home. He has his own life to maintain. His ticket is only for two weeks. He can’t be in a long distance relationship with a man. 

 

And yet Adam has not stopped thinking about Nigel’s hands all over him, the sweat that had broken out on his upper lip, the way their dicks had swelled instantly after one touch. 

 

He slips an audible at the dinner table. The moan just escapes out of his mouth. Nigel glances over at him, as if he was reading his naughty thoughts. A rose apparently can bloom across Adam’s warm cheeks. 

 

Abigail is embarrassed for Adam, who apparently loves his mac'n'cheese , and she talks when she’s nervous. 

 

“So, Hannibal, how do you like having your brother around?” she asks, trying to ignore the sounds Adam is emitting.

 

“I’m sure I’d like it, if he were ever around,” Hannibal does not even let a corner of his mouth upswing. Because, he telegraphs to Nigel, you don’t laugh at your own jokes. 

 

No one knows how to respond to that, so again, they’re just left with Adam sounding like he’s watching a porno in his plastic bowl of cold shit. 

 

And Nigel is not helping matters, looking at him with the bedroom eyes of, “Baby, I can be your bone.”

 

Adam fists his napkin in his mouth to keep silent. He checks in with himself and feels himself breaking out in a full body sweat. He sways to his feet, throwing his napkin into the mac’n’cheese. He is going to ruin this dinner, but he can’t care about that. He has to escape before his bisexuality gets the best of him. 

 

Will sets down his fork and rushes over to him. Robertus rises and Abigail stands too. Hannibal jumps into motion to grab his medical bag in the kitchen. Only Nigel remains seated, a mere spectator watching a very interesting match. 

 

Hannibal is kneeling at Adam’s feet, bag in hand. Will has manhandled Adam back into his chair and suddenly Abigail is at his back, grounding him. Adam swats Hannibal’s awfully familiar hands away from touching him. Will tries to explain to him that Hannibal is a doctor, but Adam won’t have it. He looks too much like Nigel and that would make things mighty uncomfortable when he’s uncomfortable already. Adam pulls away from Abigail’s overly maternal back rub and finds himself sinking against Will.

 

Hannibal thinks he can save the situation by being reasonable. He posits, “There’s still the dessert that you brought, Adam. If you want to go upstairs and lie down…”

 

Adam furiously shakes his head. If there’s a bed, there’s no telling what Nigel will do to him. He strangles a half-groan that again threatens to escape his lips. 

 

“I’m sorry, Will. Overwhelmed,” Adam blurts out, desperate to leave. “Have to leave.”

 

Will murmurs his apologies to everyone and Nigel walks them to the door since Adam has pushed Hannibal away. Will hurries out to start the car and Adam finds himself in close proximity, once again, to Nigel. 

 

“We need to talk,” Adam spits out in a half-whisper. 

 

“I’ll pick you up tonight, then,” Nigel answers, easy.

 

His calmness hurts Adam to his very core. 

 

“Have you done this before?” Adam asks with the look of a man who will not like the answer “yes” or “often”. So Nigel gives him his best stony silence. He refuses to be slut-shamed by an inexperienced 20-something. He knows he’s a good-looking man. Androgynous, depending on one’s perspective. Not conventionally beautiful like Will Graham. But attractive enough to hold a certain allure for women and feminine enough for men to think he’d look good in makeup. And it doesn’t hurt that he’d maintained the physique he’d had at 20. Bottom line is he’s pretty confident most people, within 5 minutes of meeting him, want to fuck him. 

 

He’d let his hair grow longish and shaggy in prison to play to that feminine side, and while he’d never been in love, there was one guard who liked to give him life-saving gifts after watching him shower. Cigarettes. Drugs. A shank. Nigel would imagine how the guard would touch him long after he’d transferred to another prison. 

 

This thing with Adam is different though. It has a fevered sweetness to it, as well as a heat that borders on electric. Adam has ignited something in him that no one has ever brought out before. He’s curious if Adam has ever felt like this too. 

 

“It was all such a rush, what happened,” Adam plows full steam ahead to fill the quiet, on the verge of losing it, playing the bathroom jerk on a loop behind his eyes now.

 

“My darling,” Nigel soothes. “I’ve had so much time stolen from me. If I can take a moment like that and pounce on it, I will. I have no regrets.”

 

“But – but – “ Adam sputters. He can’t think clearly enough to protest properly. 

 

“As long as there’s stars in the sky,” Nigel holds him close, “there’s you. And you’re gorgeous. I have nothing to lose.”

 

Adam blinks, confused by this. “What are you saying?”

 

“That I think you’re the one for me.”

 

Adam pulls away from him. “This is really fast and scary.”

 

Nigel doesn’t disagree. He opens the passenger door for Adam and Adam rushes inside. Utterly clueless, Will exchanges a glance with Nigel, grateful. Adam hurriedly buckles himself in. He refuses to look at Nigel.

 

“Drive,” he tells Will. 

 

“Will,” Nigel lingers, leaning in so his arm is pressed casually against Adam’s side. Will notices that Nigel’s hair is blonder, longer than Hannibal’s when he dips forward. He has to give it to Nigel. He’s trying to scrub some of the prison off of him. “Let us know when you get home and that he’s alright? We’ll be up.”

 

“Sure, I’ll text Hannibal.”

 

A solemn nod between them that deceives everyone but Adam. 

 

“Goodnight, Adam,” Nigel eases away. “To next time.”

 

Adam cannot trust himself to speak. His body is already betraying him – his back arching, his eyes fixed on Nigel's lips, his mouth aching for another kiss. Nigel gently closes the door and steps away from the curb. Will speeds off and Adam watches the sideview mirror where he can see Nigel recede in the distance, against what every cell in his being craves. 

 

*

 

Nigel finishes a cigarette before returning inside. He loves that he can go outside whenever he feels like it. 

 

One of Hannibal’s neighbors is returning home after a long day at work. He does a double take at seeing “Hannibal” out in the front yard, smoking and wearing something less than his three-piece suit. Nigel waves at him with his cigarette in hand, exhaling. Smoking reminds him of prison, but now tastes like freedom. 

 

He doesn’t want to go back inside and face Hannibal’s controlled seething. Hannibal knows exactly why that poor boy had a panic attack and ruined his family dinner. Nigel almost feels bad about that. 

 

Abigail exits, carrying two plates. Hannibal has sent her with a peace offering. 

 

“Cake?” she offers and sits down on the stone step. 

 

Nigel rubs out the filter in Hannibal’s lawn and flicks the butt in his geraniums so he can have a heart attack in the morning. He saunters over to Abigail and takes a seat next to her, their plates between them. 

 

Nigel takes one bite and moans. The cake is not overly sweet, surprisingly. But the maple glaze with the cream and the crunch of the fresh strawberries – the combination is sensual. So this is the kind of cake that his blushing little darling picked out. This is what he’s been craving for and now that he’s gotten a taste… 

 

Has his entire fucked up existence led him to appreciate this moment? 

 

Abigail lets him stare at his piece of cake for several long minutes. She looks out at the town car, the driver inside, waiting to take her back to her prison. She finishes every morsel of her slice of cake, imagining that if she were to get married, this would be her wedding cake. It’s a bittersweet moment for her – to start believing she could write her future after the pain of the past few months. Her fingers inch under her scarf, scratching the scar her father left for her on her neck.

 

“Nigel,” she mumbles, loud enough to get his attention. “What’s it like working for your uncle?”

 

Nigel takes her in, for the first time. Narrows his eyes at the thought of her being Robertus’ new pawn. So he will be replaced that easily? 

 

“I’ll tell you what to expect, if you tell me where Will lives.”

 

Abigail hesitates, because now, she’s not sure she wants to know. The way Nigel had assessed her. What did he see in her that made her skin crawl?

 

She stalks inside and finds Hannibal and Robertus finishing up their dessert. Hannibal’s eyes linger behind her, looking for Nigel. She forces him to focus on her.

 

“I’m worried about Adam. May I call Will?” she blinks, holding her hand out for his phone. 

 

Hannibal produces his cellphone and selects Will’s name for the call. He puts it on speaker to hear the conversation. Adam still sounds miserable, but calmer. He hesitates when Abigail asks where Will lives. 

 

Nigel has snuck through the back door of Hannibal's house, overhearing the suspicious sounds Adam is making. Will pipes in, inviting Abigail to visit. Abigail murmurs her assent and meets Nigel’s eyes in the kitchen. If anything, she is a crafty girl. 

 

She ends the call and hands Hannibal back his phone. She gives Hannibal a kiss on the cheek and says her goodbyes with a hug to Robertus. 

 

“I have to go back now,” she says, sadly. 

 

“No more of this, Hannibal,” Robertus demands, firm. “She’s one of us now and she should live with you.”

 

Hannibal murmurs his agreement and promises to make the arrangements to get her moved to his home. Robertus gestures for her to sit down. He pours her a glass of port that will surely interact with the psych meds she’s on. But Hannibal doesn’t advise her against it, so she sips, feeling like an adult, like an equal in control of her future. 

 

Robertus explains a truism in life to her: “Some of us may have been born under unlucky stars. It’s like we can draw the worst out in any given situation. But we can learn to use that chaos to benefit us. There’s power here.”

 

He reaches out and runs his hand along the scar on her neck. Her scarf hangs loosely, exposing it, and he unties the rest of it and sets it aside. 

 

“The best is still in you, that can’t be cut out, ever.”

 

His words wash over her, like a much-needed rain after a long, debilitating drought. 

 

“We can make you a rich girl, Abigail. Use us. Use everything that can turn that luck around so next time it benefits you.”

 

Abigail takes in his wisdom. Doubt clouds her Midwestern values of hard work and modest gains. Her forecast is, at best, bleak. But what if she has a chance, somehow, within herself (is that possible?) to move on? 

 

Hannibal gives her something tangible to hang her hopes on. “Robertus has several business opportunities coming up. We’ll have to train you for it. Test your considerable fortitude to clear up any of Robertus’ day-to-day concerns about his operation here.”

 

There’s not one, but two, lions in the room. And their baby cub. She doesn’t want to disappoint them. 

 

“Whatever you need me to fix,” drawls Abigail, drunk on possibility, “Uncle.”

 

*

 

Nigel appears magically to walk her out to the car. After the port she’s consumed, she giggles to herself that this feels like déjà vu. Nigel had been outside smoking when she drove up. And now they’ve come full circle. Only this time around, Hannibal asked her to take the rest of the cake back to the facility for the staff. Nigel carries the cake box for her. 

 

Nigel reminds her of the bargain they’d made once they are out of earshot of the house. 

 

“Yes,” she’s breathless, remembering. She’d kept her end with the address. Now it was his turn, to give her the dirt on Robertus. The man who will show her how to make herself rich and powerful. Who’s made her family with a soon-to-be home. 

 

“Don’t be blind, Abigail,” Nigel jerks her out of her fantasies. “Robertus is a monster.” He doesn’t wait for her reaction, although she scrambles drunkenly for him, wanting to hear more. He slams the door shut behind her to the town car and taps the window to let the driver know she’s inside. 

 

He pivots once the car is out of sight and then makes a beeline for his rental. He’d wanted to get something flashy. Red. Fast. A convertible, but settled for something that blends in. That had been what had gotten him into trouble all those years ago – standing out. Hannibal has the same problem, with his fucking super gay suits and his vintage Bentley. He blames Robertus for their need for attention. Robertus had demanded nothing short of blood for money. He’s not going to make that mistake again.

 

He will give some credit to Hannibal. Hannibal visited while Nigel was in prison. It was infrequent, due initially to his class schedule and then later his social climbing calendar. He could never say on Sundays Hannibal would be hanging out in the visiting room with a care package for him. The Lecters were not one for care packages. Or caring. But Hannibal dropped by enough to let him know there was an Outside waiting beyond the four walls of his tiny cell. He reminded him that he wasn’t forgotten. He will give Hannibal that. 

 

And so he doesn’t kill Hannibal. Or Robertus. Even though he’d probably do the world a favor if he did. 

 

Instead, Nigel climbs into his pathetic four-door coupe and readies himself for another night out in the Big Vast Outside. He already has Will’s address typed into the maps app on his phone. He ignores Hannibal’s figure standing near the geraniums, picking up the errant cigarette butts along the walkway.

 

*

 

Hannibal hears his phone ping on the nightstand as he returns from settling in Robertus for the night. They’d talked further about the upcoming job and getting Abigail ready for it. He is pleased that Robertus is impressed with Abigail. 

 

Hannibal reaches for his phone and sees the text from Will:

 

Home. Sorry again about tonight. The jet lag and too many changes hit him all at once.

 

Hannibal dials Will’s number. He can hear Will settling into his bed when he picks up. 

“Hey, Haaanibal,” Will answers. He catches how… strange… that sounded. He is not one to stretch out his vowels. Hannibal doesn’t know how to react either. It sounded positively wicked. Hannibal clears his throat and ignores that little auditory come-hither. 

“Wiiill,” he echoes, quite by accident. He takes another breath and starts over. “I had to call and say this: I don’t think I helped matters with Adam at all,” Hannibal lays it on thick over Will’s protests. “No, it was a memorable evening and the cake was delicious. We saved you a piece.”

 

Will dodges scheduling when he will be able to consume said piece and that’s when Hannibal pounces.

 

“What is this, this case, this friend, in Kentucky of all places?”

 

Silence on Will’s end of the phone. He knew he couldn’t get one over on Hannibal. 

 

“Hannibal,” Will closes his eyes. The space heater hums along with the whines and whimpers from the dogs. “I will, ah, call you as soon as I’m back and tell you all about it over cake. He didn’t really give me much to go on.”

 

Will didn’t answer his question, but he’s gathered enough information for now. There is no friend in Kentucky. There is no case. And he never conveyed at dinner whether he liked Robertus or not. In fact, Will seemed to avoid Robertus altogether. So there’s that to deal with. 

 

Hannibal and Will are listening to each other breathe over the phone. He considers what he’s about to tell Will for exactly seven seconds. He is doing this, Hannibal tells himself, because he wants to pay Will back for the lie he just told him. Because he doesn’t deserve any other friends, imaginary or otherwise, in his life. He set up himself for his own distress.

 

“Will,” Hannibal starts. “I should warn you… about Nigel.”

 

*

 

Will climbs the stairs to Adam’s room two at a time. He flings open the door. Adam has left a light on. It’s too dark out in the sticks, even for a man who appreciates a dark sky to see the thousand points of light in the heavens above. 

 

Adam is asleep. Dead to the world. He doesn’t stir even when the floor creaks as Will moves closer to him. 

 

Will has a change of heart, and doesn’t wake him up. What they need to discuss can wait until morning. 

 

The ghost of Garrett Jacob Hobbs emerges from the shadows of the hallway and Will almost jumps out of his skin. Will hurriedly closes the door, hoping to shield Adam from this, from him, and makes his way to his gun closet. He takes out his Glock and puts it under his pillow. Hobbs takes a seat next to him and stands guard against the terrors of the night.

 

*

 

Nigel throws several pebbles at Adam’s window. He’d parked the car on the road so that when he pulled up, he wouldn’t wake Will. 

 

Adam flings open the window. He can’t help but smile at the sight of Nigel, standing below, extending his arms out to him. 

 

“Come down, come see me, my pretty prince,” Nigel stage-whispers.

 

The moonlight brings out the blue and gold of Adam’s alabaster skin, making him look ethereal. His hair hangs in his eyes as he puts a finger to his lips and his breath steams in the air when he shushes Nigel. 

 

Nigel is in agreement that he doesn’t want to wake Will and he had noticed the dogs sprawled across the living room floor. Will has terrible guards for all those dogs he has. 

 

*

 

Adam softly treads down the stairs. The dogs peek out at him, but otherwise, go back to sleep. 

 

Will, on the other hand, is clearly in the grip of a dream. Sweat drips down his neck. His teeth are bared. Adam approaches the bed in the living room cautiously. 

 

“Will?” 

 

Adam gives a tiny shove at Will’s mid-section. Nigel is near the porch, gesturing for Adam not to wake him. But Will looks so… pained. 

 

“Will?” Adam tries again. Will seems to settle out of the bad dream and into a regular, albeit deep sleep. 

 

Adam changes out the damp towel around him with a dry one he finds on his nightstand. And then he creeps out the front door.

 

*

 

Nigel steals one more glance back at the living room to make sure Adam didn’t wake Will after all. 

 

“What’s wrong with him?” Nigel whispers, after a safe distance away from the house.

 

“He won’t say,” Honest Adam reveals. 

 

“Well, something’s wrong with him if he’s seeing Hannibal,” Nigel is troubled by this. Will seems like a good guy. He brought him together with Adam, after all. “I mean, Jesus. Whatever he has, he’s got it bad.” 

 

Nigel looks over his shoulder as they make their way down the long, gravel driveway. Still no Will. He may actually get away with this, as he’s certain Hannibal would have ratted on him. 

 

Nigel focuses on Adam next to him. He’s dressed like a California boy. It gets cold in the country at night. He shrugs off his jacket and throws that over Adam’s light sweater. He draws him closer and Adam rewards him with another body shiver. It will take everything not to fling him down on the ground and take him right in full view of the house. 

 

“Why can’t you sleep?” Adam asks, his arm tangled around Nigel’s middle. 

 

“I don’t want to sleep, when I can see you.”

 

Adam wants to slug him. They grin at each other. 

 

“Is that what we’re doing? Seeing each other.”

 

“I wanted to see you. It just so happens that there’s a 24-hour diner open about a half an hour from here. I have discovered all of this, because of this thing called Google. And the mini-computer that is now a phone and camera in one. Look at this thing,” Nigel marvels at his cellphone. “I want to marry it and touch it constantly.”

 

Nigel randomly fingers his phone. Adam’s lips twist out of jealousy. He gets Nigel to put the phone away. 

 

They’ve reached the road. Adam realizes this is the moment he should tell Nigel to leave him alone. He could turn back and go into the house and forget any of this ever happened. But where’s the fun in that?

 

*

 

Adam and Nigel slouch up against each other in the booth of the diner. Adam pretends it’s because he caught a chill opening the window in his room. But he’s seen the date movies and this is what going on a date looks like in his mind. He hasn’t let more than a thumbnail of space between them since he met Nigel on the porch. 

 

Adam tells Nigel about his autism and explains his food jags. He recently started watching “Doctor Who” although all of the space stuff looks so fake. But he’s gotten into wearing bowties on occasion and will eat the occasional French fry. So they order fries and Adam tries Nigel’s milkshake, which isn’t bad, and Adam tells him his plan of getting through all 836 episodes of “Doctor Who”. “Although,” Adam intones, “there’s only so many hours of TV you can watch in the day.”

 

Now it’s Nigel’s turn to tell him who he is. Nigel takes a deep breath. Adam’s going to hear it from someone. More than likely Will whenever Will wakes up in the morning. So he may as well hear it from him.

 

“I almost killed a man,” Nigel shares. “And they suspected me of killing others, but they couldn’t put those bodies on me.”

 

What a buzzkill. The night had been going so well. Nigel shakes his head and pushes through. 

 

“I served plenty of time for it. More than half of my life. I’m sure my… victim… still hasn't fully recovered after what I did to him, so I can’t say I didn’t deserve it.”

 

Adam has been listening, intently, and he hasn’t shrunk away from him. As long as he’s honest, Adam had told him, he could handle anything. 

 

“I, uh, I couldn’t kill again even if I wanted to. All of that rage just drained from me, Adam. I don’t know where it went, but it’s not in me anymore.”

 

Adam takes Nigel’s hand in his and squeezes. Nigel had wanted to look away, but he forces himself to maintain eye contact.

 

“They will say – Will and Hannibal – they’re going to tell you I’m dangerous and poison for you and a no-good, piece-of-shit, but they’re wrong about me, darlin’. I wouldn’t hurt a curl on your head,” Nigel sighs. “I’m not a great guy, Adam, but I’m not bad either. I was young once and stupid for listening to the people around me. I’m not either of those things anymore.”

 

The window next to their booth is open just a smidge. Nigel had chosen this table because of the open window, to have the Outside within reach. He strokes Adam’s cheek and looks at the light from neon “open” sign flickering over his Adam’s face. 

 

For a flash, Adam’s face is bathed in red, dripping like wine through his glass-face. Nigel is seeing things. He is that scared. He waits for Adam’s rejection to strike him, hard. And waits. 

 

He finally meets Adam’s eyes. They are still kind and understanding. There’s a red tint to his skin, but there’s also a look of forgiveness there that Nigel doesn’t even give himself. Nigel finds Adam’s lips on his lips and that’s a nice surprise. 

 

“You still want to see me now?” Nigel mouths against Adam’s mouth. 

 

“I do.”

 

Nigel tilts his head and deepens their liplock. He imagines if he were his teenage self, this is how he’d have been, making out with his crush in a diner at 5 in the morning. The burly construction workers who have sat down for an early breakfast before their shift were certainly not anticipating this cock show. Nigel smiles against Adam’s smile. 

 

“It smells like it’s going to rain,” Adam inhales. “And I need to walk the dogs in an hour.”

 

*

 

Will’s fury is pounding in his ears as he watches Jail and Jailbait pull into his driveway. He has his gun tucked in the back of his pants and one hand is resting on it. The dogs hang back inside the house, sensing trouble. Hobbs stands on the porch with him. Will knows with a strange conviction that not only his space, but his thoughts, have been invaded by Hobbs completely. 

 

Maybe he can check into the hospital as early as today and take Adam with him to get Nigel out of his system. Two for the price of one. Surely, any looney bin worth its salt would agree to a family discount. Hell, he should bring Hobbs too.

 

The sun is rising, but the sky is getting darker, the storm clouds rolling in and blocking the little light there is. Even in the dimness, Hobbs’ eyes are so bright moths are drawn to him. They watch Adam and Nigel climb out of the car. 

 

“Will,” Nigel starts, hands up, but Will marches past him. 

 

Will physically drags Adam away from the car by the collar of his sweater, but refrains from drawing his gun just yet. He knows that if he pulls out his gun, he will have to kill Nigel and Nigel looks too much like Hannibal, so it will be like killing Hannibal and that will not do. 

 

“Don’t come near him again, Nigel,” Will is sputtering with rage. He turns and directs his fury at Adam and looks him over for any signs of abuse. There is not a mark on him. “What were you thinking, Adam? I thought you were smarter than this.”

 

“You’re scaring him, Will,” Nigel tries to say this calmly. 

 

“No, you’re scaring him, Nigel. He has no reason to be scared of me,“ Will fires back. “Get inside, Adam.”

 

Adam sees how on edge Will is and goes inside. He doesn’t know what Will is capable of in this moment. His face is contorted and he’s angry without any real reason to be. He tries to explain that he went with Nigel on his own free will, but this is ignored. Will’s his older cousin, his only living blood relative, and he will respect that, although he’s terrified what Will will do to him now that he’s not acting as Nigel’s human shield. The door slams shut behind Adam. 

 

Will and Nigel face off from each other. They have taken the other’s measure within seconds and have determined that both will fight, in their own way, for Adam. Nigel knows he has the advantage. Will may be packing, but he is disarmed when he sees Nigel. The spectre of Hannibal may actually save his life. But ultimately, the choice is not Will’s to make. Adam is 25 years old and Will cannot watch him every second of the day.

 

Nigel takes in Will, already claiming victory. 

 

“Hannibal told me – “ Will begins.

 

“Told you what exactly?”

 

Will will be damned if he repeats it. 

 

“We’re adults, Will,” Nigel reminds him.

 

“Then it’s true.”

 

He fucking knew it. Why would Hannibal lie about this? Will’s head is spinning and Hobbs is sneering at him, egging him to finish this. His weapon feels warm to the touch. Comforting. Nigel’s eyes flicker from Will’s hands to his face. Will’s lips are in a tight line. His eyes are wild. He looks, for all intents and purposes, like he’s about to lose it over some bullshit. A soft rain begins to mist down on them. 

 

“I could fucking kill you, Nigel, so fucking easily,” Will pants. 

 

“Why would you do that? Have you talked to Adam?”

 

“Stop sounding like a goddamn mediator. Adam is my family. I’m supposed to protect my family.” This, even to his own ears, sounds like something Hobbs would say. 

 

“I consider Adam something better than my family.”

 

They exchange a look. What the fuck does that mean, Will is dying to ask him. It staggers Will off enough that it gives Nigel room to talk some sense into Will. 

 

“Listen to Adam first and if you still don’t want me around, then I will respect that.”

 

He sounds so reasonable, so like Hannibal. Fuck. Will spins on his heel and stalks towards the front door, where Adam hasn’t moved. 

 

“You were going to kill him,” Adam greets Will, as soon as the door closes. 

 

“I’m not…” Will pauses and catches his breath. His heart is beating through his chest. He feels faint. “…A killer. But he is.”

 

“I know.”

 

“You know and you still want to be with someone like that?”

 

“Yes.”

 

He didn’t even hesitate to answer. “Adam,” Will pleads. 

 

“He did something awful, but that doesn’t make him less than human,” Adam sounds sure of this. 

 

“People will shun you when they find out about his past.”

 

“They already shun me. No one even attempts to get to know me. You treat what I have as if I'm too damaged to be loved. I deserve to be loved, too, Will. I don't care what anyone thinks. He’s trying. Maybe he’ll even stay. Everyone else left. Both my girlfriends. My dad…”

 

Adam sinks down to his knees and covers his ears. He is weeping, exhausted and emotionally drained. He curls up on the floor and the dogs surround him. Will reaches down, feeling guilty for getting him into this state. And like what happened with Hannibal, Adam doesn’t want him to touch him. 

 

“I only want Nigel,” Adam screams out. “Nigel!”

 

*

 

Nigel takes a step forward and then another, Adam’s screams unbearable to him. Even the dogs are howling. More than anything, he wants to take Adam away from this creepy place and his creepy cousin. The war to maintain control is getting harder to damp down than he thought. He can’t think about what he’ll do if Will has harmed Adam. 

 

Will stomps out of the house and signals for Nigel to enter. Nigel finds that he has somehow moved from as far as the car to the porch. He hurries to close the rest of the distance between him and Adam. Just as Nigel crosses the threshold, Will puts his hand out to stop him.

 

“Did you coach him to react that way?” Will has to ask.

 

“I didn’t have to tell him how to react,” Nigel is steaming. 

 

“Don’t hide behind him or use him or hurt him in any way, Nigel,” Will demands. Nigel pulls away from him and scoops Adam into his arms. 

 

Defeated, Will watches Nigel carry Adam up the stairs to his room. He heads out the door and motions for the dogs to follow him. He needs some air. 

 

*

The rain is falling steady enough to soak through his clothes. Will is a wet mess by the time he returns from walking the dogs and hears the bed upstairs squeaking away. There are groans. In stereo. 

 

He walks back out of his house and calls Hannibal.

 

“Will?” Hannibal answers. “Is everything alright? Did he show up?”

 

“He did.”

 

Will looks back at his house. He doesn’t know what comes over him, but he starts laughing. He can’t stop. 

 

He climbs into his car to get out of the rain and to not hear his cousin and Hannibal’s twin fucking brother bone the morning away. 

 

“Oh my God,” Will settles back into the driver’s seat. When he looks over at the passenger seat, Hobbs is there, glaring at him. Will covers his eyes with his hands. “Oh my God, Hannibal, is this really happening?”

 

“What happened, Will.”

 

Will doesn’t think he can describe the past hour of his life. “My thoughts are not very tasty right now,” he says, by way of explanation. 

 

Hannibal is a patient man. But even he has his limits. He glances at the death grip he has on his phone.

 

“Did you kill Nigel, Will?” of course Hannibal would ask that.

 

“No,” Will breathes, “but I wanted to.” He is appalled at himself. Frightened even. Adam is safer with Nigel – how is that even possible?

 

Will starts the car. He realizes that he’s still in the thin T-shirt he slept in and has mud on his jogging pants and boots from the walk. But he’s going as is or he won’t have the strength to go at all. 

 

“I’m sorry, Dr. Lecter,” he says as he starts the car. “But I need to leave for Kentucky now.”

 

He clicks off the phone and drives backwards down the driveway towards the main road.

 

*

 

Will’s not answering his phone, so Hannibal gets in his car and drives to Will’s house.

 

The rain has made the roads slick. A car up ahead has hydroplaned into the median and flipped on its roof, blocking all lanes. Hannibal drums his fingers against the steering wheel, as each precious minute ticks away and he can feel Will getting further and further away from him.

 

Finally, Hannibal reaches Wolf Trap and pulls the Bentley behind Nigel’s bland, everyman rental car. He never tagged Nigel for making safe choices or being the accountant car type. Or while he’s at it, for fucking Will Graham’s male autistic cousin. 

 

He wraps his scarf around his neck as he takes long strides to Will’s front door. He doesn’t bother knocking. No one is in the living room but the dogs anyway. 

 

Hannibal walks through Will’s front door for the first time, intrigued by the hypermasculine, controlled chaos of how he keeps his home, inspecting and touching every surface to soak up this memory. The dogs ignore him, taking him for Nigel, who’s roamed in and out of the house for his smoke breaks. 

 

This is the epitome of a bachelor’s pad. Not even a hint of a past lover in sight. And for all indications of where he keeps his bed, he has no plans for a slow seduction in the near future. 

 

The fridge is full, he suspects only because of Adam’s visit. Will hasn’t packed any underwear or clothes. His work computer is still on his desk. He left, it would seem, in a rush.

 

Hannibal climbs the stairs silently and opens every door upstairs until he finds Nigel in bed with Adam. The light from the hallway falls across the blanket that covers them. A cold draft sweeps into the room, as if Darth Vader has entered. 

 

Nigel senses a change in the atmosphere and cracks one eye open. With his other arm tucked under Adam, he draws his lover closer to him, lifting the blanket higher to cover Adam’s bare chest. Adam buries his face in Nigel’s armpit as Nigel looks up to see their visitor. Nigel nudges him awake, and the sheet falls even further down Adam’s chest. 

 

Hannibal stands in the doorway with his coat folded over his arm, averting his eyes from Adam’s half nude form to the floor. 

 

Hannibal speaks, as if from on high, “I just wanted you to know that Will’s leaving the house to you two to take care of for the next week or so. Will you be able to manage that for him?” 

 

Nigel exchanges a look with Adam. Playing house is the best scenario yet. Adam nods and stretches. 

 

“He’s definitely unwell,” Adam notes. “Do you know where he went, Dr. Lecter?”

 

“No.”

 

Nigel tucks Adam’s flesh back under the blanket, as that’s for his eyes only, and climbs out of bed to take it out in the hallway with Hannibal. They switch to their native tongue. 

 

“It’s just too convenient that you seduced him last night and now you’re standing here, acting like you’re a new man. Above your obligations to Robertus, and me. Robertus has a job for you,” Hannibal is firm about this. Nigel’s vacation has officially ended. 

 

“I fucking can’t do another thing for him. I’ve given him everything. All I’ve asked is to be left alone.”

 

Hannibal nods towards the room. “Don’t use Adam to shirk your duties to our family.”

 

Even Nigel is chilled by where this is going. Hannibal doesn’t think he’s capable of loving someone. 

 

“Don’t claim to know my heart.”

 

“We shared a womb together, Nigel. I know your heart and how little breast milk was left for you to nurture it. Don’t be brave. Spare that boy now and walk away with me.”

 

“Or what? Would you really hurt Will’s only family?”

 

“Adam is not Will’s only family.”

 

Nigel weighs this, assessing him. “Yet, you don’t know where Will is, Hannibal. He may not come back.”

 

“He’ll be back and I’ll let you remain here as long as you tell me when he returns.”

 

If Hannibal feels for Will Graham anything close to what Nigel feels for Adam, then Hannibal has Nigel’s pity. It must be a terrible thing, to know love and not have your love returned.

 

*

 

The rain has not let up. Will Graham wipes his boots on a welcome mat before a red door. He wants to at least show he cares about other people’s property. He stands still under Bedelia’s scrutiny, hoping he passes muster. He knows what she sees and it isn’t pretty. 

 

She looks so composed. So exacting in her judgment. But intrigued, nonetheless. 

 

Will knows he has one thing going for himself, and he doesn’t have the best self-esteem, but he knows this: he’s irresistible to psychiatrists. His mind is a very attractive conversation piece, professional detachment withstanding.

 

He wets his lips and captures her with his most captivating look. He knows she knows who he is.

 

“Dr. Du Maurier? I’m Will Graham,” he states the obvious. “Dr. Lecter told me about you.”

 

“Then he must have told you I only see one patient,” she tries to maintain a certain lack of curiosity, but she sees why Hannibal is so obsessed. She licks her lips as if she just hit the jackpot. “Does Hannibal know you’re here?”

 

“No and I’d prefer to keep it that way. If Hannibal’s told you anything about me, then you must know I’m not officially his patient.”

 

“How do I verify that?”

 

“It’s what he tells everyone about us. I’m sure that’s what he told you.”

 

“And what do you believe?”

 

“About what?”

 

“About your relationship with Hannibal.”

 

“That it’s odd but oddly comforting,” Will lets that marinate for a bit. “But what I have to deal with does not require a friend. I need to get this killer out of my head and I only have a week to do so.”

 

“So you’re looking for something intensive?”

 

“I’d rather explain this inside, if I may,” Will invites himself in and Bedelia steps aside, scanning the street for any signs of her stalker-y patient before closing the door.

 

Will sinks down into what she would refer to as Hannibal’s chair. She crosses to the bar and pours them both a drink. She realizes she will not get him to leave without giving him something in return. She hands Will his drink and tips hers to his.

 

“Bottom’s up,” she smiles. 

 

Will shakes his tumbler and then slams it in one gulp. He needed that as much as she does. They set their glasses aside and begin.

 

“What do you want, Will?”

 

Her directness is off-putting. So he chooses, too, to be direct for once. 

 

“I didn’t want to check myself into a facility, although I probably should. I didn’t know where else to go.” 

 

“Hannibal’s wasn’t an option.”

 

“No. I value our friendship too much to let him hear what’s really going on in my head.”

 

“But you were in treatment with him, yes?”

 

“I went to him depressed, after a traumatic event where I killed a man in the line of duty. Hannibal told me to eat more red meat. He administered some photo therapy but with lights, and wanted to prescribe me a sedative to allow me to sleep at night. I refused. We have since fallen more or less into talk therapy, and while it has its perks, I am haunted by a vision of the man that I killed.”

 

“You require a facility, Mr. Graham,” Bedelia assesses. 

 

“Or a bed. One of your… bedrooms,” he is mimicking her speech patterns, she notes, but he cannot help himself. “Thorazine, or whatever psych cocktail you have on hand. A week, at most, to get the monsters out of my head for just a little while. I promise I’ll only require light supervision. I would not want to burden you, if you do me this favor.”

 

“Tit for tat?” Bedelia entreats. “Did your mother leave you for a much needed break?”

 

Will sucks in a breath. That was a low blow. But he understands that if he’s going to do this, it has to be direct. Right for the jugular, apparently. Because he’s tired, tears stream down his face. 

“Yes,” he answers, “but a break is putting it nicely.“

 

“Your reaction was right… there…” a breathless Bedelia surges in her seat. “We’ve barely touched the surface, which suggests you have trust issues with women. Hannibal puts you at ease, and while that has its purposes, you won’t have that privilege here, with me. I need you to understand that, Will. You will also be sedated and restrained and undergo a daily therapy session. Are you sure you want to do this?”

 

He swallows, considering. Fear makes his eyes dart around the room. To Bedelia, this is heady stuff. She sees how even Hannibal was seduced by this bundle of beautiful nerves. How she could fall, if she isn’t careful, for his tear-streaked face. His distress. The insight he could give her on Hannibal. It’s been years since she’s had a patient like this.

 

To Will, his decision doesn’t rest with the fact that Bedelia can read him like a book. It’s another absence that he’s noticed since his arrival. Hobbs has not so much as dared to show his glassy, dead eyes here. Bedelia watches Will’s Adam’s apple bob up and down as he struggles to find his voice. 

 

“I’m ready,” he states.

 

Bedelia leads the way to the room where she will keep Will Graham all to herself.


	3. Everything Leads Me back to You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can we ever really break our patterns? Does therapy work? Bedelia is certainly betting on it -- with her life. Robertus enjoys his time in the States, but wants Hannibal and Nigel to return to England with him, although sacrifices will have to be made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags flag -- squicky stuff with Will. Mention of rape. He has consented to treatment, but this is Bedelia we're talking about. Nothing happens. All talk. But it emits a reaction from him.

 

This bitter earth. Hannibal wants to scorch it and the asteroids that started this bang-up job. 

 

He makes a few calls. Robertus is game to whatever plans Hannibal hatches up that can bring Will’s lie – and hopefully himself – out into the light. The second realtor Hannibal contacts is actually available. This, at last, is a ray of sunshine on an otherwise bleak day.

 

The realtor, a middle-aged woman, well-fed, well-dressed, raises an eyebrow when he pulls up in his Bentley, out-branding her on the car front. She concludes, rightly, that she won’t be driving him around. She extends a hand to Robertus first, responding to the Old World charm. Hannibal can read in how her eyebrow has not shot down that she’s curious about the relationship between the two men, so he makes the introduction. 

 

The house is located in Towson, an upscale suburb in Baltimore, a hot market now. The house could get upward to $500K. She pushes for $700K with him. Her staging is impressive, he will give her that. Robertus shoots a disapproving look at Hannibal.

 

“I’m afraid we’re looking for something more specific,” Robertus announces to her. “More land, a stream would be nice. He likes streams, doesn’t he, Hannibal?”

 

Hannibal winces. He doesn’t need the reminder of Will right now. 

 

“Room for animals,” continues Robertus. “A barn for the horses.”

 

“Dogs,” Hannibal corrects. 

 

Robertus soaks that in. “Price doesn’t matter.”

 

He can see the dollar signs in her eyes. She places her bag on the counter and pulls out her phone to show her other listings. Robertus lopes towards her, easy, the knife in his hand catching the natural light that falls throughout the open floor plan. Hannibal circles them, considering where he will strike alongside Robertus’ first cut. 

 

When her blood gushes over their hands, Hannibal feels like he can let go of the breath he’s been holding all morning.

 

He would prefer to float away in this moment, a particle in the atmosphere. Anywhere else to rid himself of that innocent Will-like face, swaying awake, searching for his lover’s lips. Adam and Nigel have become the embodiment of a fever dream that had gripped him like a thief in the night. 

 

Will has been unpredictable to him, yes, but he has taken it to new heights with his disappearance. It’s one thing to keep Hannibal on edge, and another to make him want to resort to losing all semblance of his person suit. Its construction had been meticulous, or so he thought. Yet, lately, it was coming apart at the seams. A part of him is dying with every passing moment that Will's whereabouts are unknown. 

 

Hannibal lurches towards his car, as if dodging landmines, feeling like he’d dropped too much acid. And he loves his drugs and dropping a lot of acid. This is different, a garden that is overgrown and spinning and aflame. He clutches the door handle, for balance. 

 

Hannibal gazes at the “For Sale” sign and hopes that Will gets his message to come home soon. Turning himself into Jack Crawford would be easier than dealing with desertion. At least, one of them could be found, bitter but alive. 

 

His influence at Quantico has paid off to Hannibal’s benefit immensely. He could see it in the new suits Jack began wearing to work and to their private dinners. He’d won Jack’s trust. If he were to ask if Will had called in his vacation days or had talked about this Kentucky nonsense, Jack would tell him, Hannibal is sure of it. But if he were to ask, he can only imagine how he’d sound. Needy. Reckless. Desperate. Having Jack see him in such a state is a riskier move than holding out his wrists and telling him he’s the Chesapeake Ripper.

 

Robertus hasn’t gotten his fill for the taste of blood. It has been some time since he had used a knife, and he wants more. Hannibal calls another realtor, who agrees to meet. He gives Robertus’ specifications for the house they are looking for, and this drive will be further out, in Prince George’s County. Robertus doesn’t mind the drive. 

 

They see a number of houses throughout the morning. Random realtors. No one leaves much of an impression on Hannibal. It’s too easy. And he’d rather Will would be at his side for these events. 

 

Hannibal has to insist they go home for lunch or Robertus would keep going. Robertus had marveled after their last stop, “There’s so much meat here.”

 

Hannibal finds as he prepares a light lunch that he’s lost his appetite. Will’s slice of cake waits for him in his refrigerator. He slams the door shut at the sight of it. He brings Robertus his lunch to the study and takes a seat next to him. Robertus is ravenous after their hunt. 

 

“What we did, will it fix it?” Robertus starts enigmatically.

 

“Fix what?”

 

“Whatever strange weather you’ve fallen under.”

 

Hannibal sets down the sandwich he was pretending to eat. Robertus is too observant for words. Hannibal says nothing, so Robertus grabs a person suit thread and pulls.

 

“You’ve re-created the case Will described over dinner. He’ll see that, won’t he?” Robertus presses. 

 

Hannibal shrugs. He doubts it. It would require Will to actually surface. To care about lying to him. He’s expecting a call from Jack any minute now. Idly, he checks his cellphone, distracted. 

 

Robertus offers Hannibal this: “He’s a beautiful man. Unusual. He and his cousin seem to be drawn to the bad boys. Or just older men in general. I don’t know why you think he won’t be open to going to London with us.”

 

A wide smile stretches across Hannibal’s whole face, easing some of the tension. Robertus rises to his feet and stands over Hannibal.

 

“This game you’re playing with the FBI. You’re drawing them to you and you will get caught, Hannibal. Is that what you want – to expose us, yourself, to this special agent?”

 

Hannibal tilts his face up to Robertus, defiant. He has always talked to others about reaching their self-discovery, but that’s easy to say when he wears his own mask. Grudgingly, he respects Robertus for calling him on it. No one else would be able to.

 

“Is this thing you have with Agent Graham another one of your elaborate jokes, or have I missed the punchline?”

 

“I can assure you, it’s not a joke.”

 

“Then what is it?”

 

Hannibal’s jaw tightens. Robertus waits for an explanation. For a moment, neither man budges. Hannibal struggles to find the right words and then decides to forgo deflecting. 

 

“I don’t know,” Hannibal admits. He exchanges a look with Robertus, who is stunned. Hannibal is never one to be stumped.

 

“I can see how this would look to you,” Hannibal concedes. His hands pluck at the invisible threads that are hanging from his arms. 

 

“One cannot choose when love pays a visit,” Robertus is sympathetic. 

 

Hannibal grimaces, closing his eyes. He is actually pained. This is not what he wants to hear. Robertus plunges ahead whether Hannibal wants to hear it or not.

 

“You have everything to lose and everything to gain with him. It can be exhausting, hiding your other life. Even the best of us gets burnt out. But we need to contain this, Hannibal. You know what Nigel has gone through. I will not have you caged too.”

 

“I know.”

 

“How quickly can you pack up here? Can you be ready when it comes time for me leave?”

 

Hannibal has always had his contingency plans in place, but calculates the week timeframe to give him ample time to truly dismantle his life in Baltimore. Would he be able to send for his things, including Will? Silently, he nods. Robertus squeezes his hand, relieved. They have much to do then. 

 

*

 

Nigel has lost count on which episode they are on with Adam’s “Doctor Who” marathon. But he needs a break and some real food. 

 

“One more,” Adam begs.

 

“You know you’re in love with Matt Smith, ya big ole queen,” Nigel tells him. 

 

“Stop,” Adam laughs. 

 

“I’m jealous as fuck,” Nigel sighs. 

 

Nigel sets Adam’s laptop aside, where another episode is queued up to start, and climbs out of bed. He leans back and gives Adam a kiss. 

 

“What do you want from town? I need to go outside for a bit,” Nigel admits. 

 

Adam doesn’t answer as the episode has started. Nigel watches him watch his show and sighs again. Fucking actors. 

 

Nigel has to admit, as he’s driving away from Will’s house, that he has never been happier. He walks into Wal-Mart and rifles through the men’s clothing racks. He had left what little clothes he had at Hannibal’s and he has no intention of going back there. 

 

He fills up his cart, and then lingers in the suit and tie section. He decides to test a theory of his. 

 

Instead of walking into the house, Nigel rings the doorbell. He is overloaded with Wal-Mart bags and sets them aside as Adam pads down the stairs and holds back the dogs. 

 

Adam watches as Nigel opens the door and strides through. He has a blazer on, and a bowtie and trousers. He has the whole “Doctor” look down and it is fucking hot. Adam’s knees puddle around him. He steadies himself against one of the dog’s backs. Nigel is amused that he was able to get a reaction out of Adam. 

 

“Will you pay me some attention now?”

 

Adam swallows deeply and nods, meeting Nigel halfway and stroking his hand along the bowtie and blazer. His arms wrap around Nigel’s shoulders. Nigel is smirking at him so Adam closes his eyes when he presses his lips against the side of Nigel’s mouth. 

 

“Do you know what you’re doing to me?” Adam accuses, overstimulated again. He growls against Nigel’s bowtie. “Don’t ever take this off.”

 

“As long as you pretend you’re an alien and anally probe me,” Nigel speaks hotly in Adam’s ear. 

 

Adam grabs at one of Nigel’s suspenders and pulls him up the stairs. 

 

*

 

Bedelia tests the straps around Will’s chest and legs to make sure he can’t take them off. She has Will in a spare bedroom that has one window. The bed has a plywood sheet under the thin mattress, where the leather straps thread through. Will is 3 sheets to the wind from the cocktail she’s administered, and his head has lolled back. She tucks a pillow behind his neck to make him more comfortable. 

 

“Will?” 

 

His head is turned to the window, watching the dead leaves scatter in the wind. He prays that this will fix him.

 

“Will?”

 

Bedelia’s voice pulls him slightly out of the galaxy he had been floating in. He had always resisted taking medication. It unnerved him to feel he needed something to chemically balance him out. He once took half a Xanax at a party, smiled for the rest of the time there and had barely managed to drive home. He knew, in that instance, that he was missing the Happy Place in his brain. And whatever Bedelia’s given him is definitely having an effect on him. He sends the signal to his head to get himself to nod in the affirmative, his jaw working to form the words. 

 

“Hannibal thinks that I’m a killer,” he mumbles, glancing at her over his shoulder. 

 

“I don’t think you’re a killer, Will,” she declares, touching a nerve. The weight of her words hang heavy between them. “I think you’re attracted to men who like to kill.”

 

This breaks through the haze. His body answers in protest, jerking against the restraints. She caresses his face to calm him. 

 

“There, there now,” Bedelia soothes. “All the cunning of the devil is exercised in trying to make us think we’re worse than we are. A man like you… with your wit and beauty… will never be at a loss. Didn’t you just meet Hannibal’s family? From where I’m sitting, you’re on your way to being a bride than a bridesmaid.”

 

Suddenly, the room feels dangerous and charged. Her jealousy emanates from her in thick waves. She has one of his curls wrapped around her finger and pain licks through the base of his skull. The sharp knives of her tough lesson seep into his drug-addled brain. He can almost make out something. An image that manages to stay just out of reach.

 

“Do you see now?” Bedelia probes.

 

“See?” Will echoes. It’s an unwanted reminder of Hobbs and he cringes. 

 

“See your fate. I hear you have the ability to make certain leaps. Do you see the life that is waiting for you, Will?”

 

Will’s eyes roam around the barren room. He doesn’t want to see it. Even with the drugs coursing through his system, his walls have erected high and eternal around him. Bedelia knocks and prods at these. 

 

“Two paths await. You walk out my door and you make your way home. Maybe you go back to work, maybe you don’t, but you remain alone.”

 

“Or?”

 

“Or you reunite and return to your state of denial. And you remain in that state for as long as you can.”

 

Will struggles to envision this. Alone? With whom? The blurry image tracks faster towards him now and he can almost see its familiar face. Another moment, and it will be so clear. Bedelia navigates her way down the switchback path.

 

“You love these men, Will. You always have. Ah, I can just imagine the ways you loved them. You don’t have to deny who you are here. You’re safe in this room.” 

 

Even strapped down, Will is vibrating like an electrocuting criminal. He squeezes his eyes shut and grinds his teeth. She pulls back from him, both repulsed by each other.

 

“You don’t have a choice in this matter. So why continue to agonize over it?” A full body shiver overtakes his body. Bedelia throws a blanket over him, not wanting him to catch a chill from the draft in the room. He peers at him from tear-streaked eyes. 

 

“Most people I know are fluid in their sexuality,” Will concedes. 

 

A breakthrough. The walls are crumbling down around him. 

 

“True. We attract the like-minded and like those we attract,” Bedelia supports. “Hannibal has expressed a certain interest in you. There’s no harm in discovering something that may have always been right underneath the surface.”

 

He preens, haughty. She is crossing a line here, from the look in his eyes. And she can’t help herself, from the look in hers. 

 

“It sounds like the bride is on his way,” she twists the curl tighter. 

 

“Hannibal’s brother will kill you -- “

 

“His brother?” she laughs. “That’s perfect. Denial will be vital in your marriage.”

 

She loops another of his curls around her finger and tugs. The pain takes his breath away. It feels good. Needed. 

 

“I was deciding to take a different road and withdraw completely when you paid me a visit, Will Graham,” she runs an affectionate finger across his cheek to his lips. “I’ve injected you with a few milligrams of ecstasy, Will. Must bring those cravings to the surface, no? We should not underestimate the power of sexual healing.”

 

His eyes flicker over her face, terrified. The face that he craves to see certainly does not belong to her. She pats his cheek platonically to reassure him it will not be her to take him. Slowly, it dawns on him who she’s grooming him for.

 

“Why would you feel horror towards the monster who will stick by you? We find delight in most loathsome things, even the hell that each new day brings us,” she flashes a tight smile at him. “When he comes for you, you can bend to him, instantly, you know, and save us both.” 

 

“And why would I save you?” he sneers at her. 

 

“Because you owe me, Will. I’m spinning you gold. A marriage. A family. A life of travel and leisure. It’s an offer that should have been given to me, but I think you’ll appreciate it more than you know.”

 

She gives him one last glance as the drugs take over his system and pull him back into a fog. His eyelids flutter closed. She glides out of the room, in her own fog as she measures her next move. 

 

*

 

Alana steps into the sunroom, her eyes fixed on the older man holding court with Abigail while Hannibal roams around the houseplants. Her breath catches in her throat as she takes in Robertus. She’s always liked older men, and Robertus certainly fits the bill. Debonair and reeking of wealth and experience. She reaches Abigail’s side and extends her hand at him. 

 

“Alana Bloom,” she introduces, “Abigail’s doctor. And who are you?”

 

“My uncle,” Hannibal calls out. He comes closer, but still keeps his distance from the table. 

 

“Robertus Lecter,” Robertus shares. “Soon-to-be Abigail’s great uncle.” 

 

Alana is not fast enough to prevent her head from swiveling in Hannibal’s direction. She tries valiantly to align her features into a more neutral, reserved pleasantness. She pats a chair, indicating for Hannibal to join them. Hannibal, however, remains standing. Uncomfortable, even. 

 

Abigail is positively beaming at Robertus. Alana has never seen her look so happy. 

 

“What’s going on?” again, she directs this at Hannibal. 

 

“Hannibal and Will are applying to be my guardians,” Abigail interjects, “and they’re taking me to England.”

 

Alana, taken aback, snaps, “That’s not going to happen.”

 

“No?” Robertus challenges, as a man who does not like to be crossed. “She has nowhere to live. No family. My home in London has plenty of room. She’ll have access to anything she would need. What is the problem?”

 

Alana shoots Robertus a scathing look. “The problem,” Alana pauses, searching, “is it’s too soon for Abigail. Abigail needs time here to heal.”

 

“The Lecters are a resilient bunch. Hannibal is proof of this. Besides, she’s one of us now and we’ll be leaving for London soon.”

 

Robertus rises, and apparently, the conversation is over. Alana’s mouth gapes open as Abigail sweetly asks if she can go out to dinner with them. Abigail then guesses that Alana’s rapid blinking can be taken as a yes. The trio prepare to leave. Alana glares at Hannibal, as if to say this will be continued when his uncle’s not around.

 

Robertus holds open the door to the Bentley for Abigail. She climbs into the passenger seat. 

 

“Your doctor’s right,” Robertus says, after they get down the road. “We should make sure you know how to take care of yourself, so we can take care of each other.”

 

Hannibal drives them to the gun range. Robertus demonstrates the correct stance for the target practice and then makes the adjustments to Abigail’s form. She glances at Hannibal, as if for permission, and he half-smiles. Encouraging. He is wearing goggles and earplugs along with his sweater and slacks. She is grateful that he’s shown up in her life like this.

 

Robertus indicates the target and advises that she points the gun in its general direction. He stands behind her and warns her about recoil. She tries to remember all the rules that were thrown at her. And then she fires.

 

She empties the clip, as instructed. 

 

She finds her back pressed up against Robertus, from the recoil, she remembers.

 

And then her knees turn to jelly. It’s indescribable, the rush. The adrenaline. The high. Her eyes flutter. Her cheeks bright. She may have found a substitution for sex, if it becomes more obvious that she will be alone for the better part of her life. 

 

Robertus reads the bliss on her face and turns to Hannibal. 

 

“She’s a natural,” he says, with a wink.

 

*

 

Adam still has his laptop open, but Nigel has pulled up the NASA website. He’d gotten a Google alert at Wal-Mart that that application process was open for astronauts. And so Adam’s filling out the form. 

 

“They’ll never pick someone like me,” Adam grouses. But he’s still pecking away at the keyboard. 

 

Nigel props himself up by the elbow and tugs Adam’s chin so that he’ll look at him. Nigel is totally nude except for the bowtie now. 

 

“I told you I don’t want to hear you talk like that.”

 

“It’s a waste of time, Nigel,” Adam protests. 

 

“Versus the waste of not trying?”

 

Adam rolls his eyes and Nigel wrestles him on the bed until Adam stills over him. Nigel starts teabagging Adam’s balls and it is absolute torture for Adam. Nigel hums, “You continue and I continue”. Adam twists under him to reach for the laptop and somehow manages to return to filling out the application. Between giggles and groans, he has a one-of-a-kind finish. Nigel clicks “Send” for him. 

 

It takes Adam’s breath away. He’d always dreamed of being an astronaut. Since he was 16, at least. And had always been too scared to do it. He tells Nigel as much, in his own halting way, wishing they’d met sooner.

 

“Where were you when I was 16?” Adam asks him. 

 

“Incarcerated,” Nigel deadpans. 

 

Adam shudders, taking Nigel’s face in his hands. It hasn’t escaped Nigel’s notice that Adam’s life span is the same amount of his imprisonment. 

 

“That’s poetic justice for you,” he laughs at his own joke because laughter is what’s gotten him through his stint. A small chuckle escapes Adam’s lips. The fact that Nigel can crack jokes about it never ceases to amaze him. 

 

Nigel’s phone pings. Another Google alert. 

 

“Let’s see what else Google suggests that we do today, since it’s tracking all my purchases and search history,” Nigel reaches for the phone.

 

But Adam’s faster. He holds Nigel’s phone.

 

“It’s probably the alarm. Time for a walk,” he’s got the phone now.

 

It turns out it’s a text message. A picture loads from top to bottom. A beautiful, multi-ethnic woman stares at him, her eyes crossed from desire. She is completely nude, but has brought up her knees to cover her lady bits. 

 

Adam tilts his head at the next “ping”. 

 

This time he stares straight at a picture of her vagina. His stomach drops to his knees. He thinks he may be sick. He can hear the middle C sound that is made when two black holes collide and it sounds a lot like the third “ping”.

 

Third time, a message:

 

Mrs. misses you. Come home.

 

Something in Adam shatters. His world goes dark. He tosses the phone at Nigel. 

 

“You’re married?”

 

Nigel feels the sickening crush of a Moment bear down on him where he knows this is Life or Death for him. He holds out his hands as if to say, “Wait.” He needs a chance to think.

 

And then Will’s home phone rings, giving Nigel that chance. Adam can’t stand the noise. In a huff, he picks it up to silence it. 

 

“What?”

 

“Will?”

 

“Will’s not here. What’s your message?”

 

“Who is this?” Jack listens to the silence. “The cousin from California?”

 

“I don’t have time for small talk.”

 

“Tell him Jack called. He’s not answering his cell and it’s urgent that I reach him. There’s a –“

 

Adam hangs up on Jack. He turns his full attention to Nigel. “What were you going to say?”

 

“Adam,” Nigel breathes. “I met her before I met you, but no, she isn’t my wife.”

 

“Then who is she?”

 

“It’s a message.”

 

“Who sends a message like that if it’s not that kind of message?”

 

“It’s business. I swear.”

 

Rather than be painted a liar, Nigel resolves to do something he thought he would never do. He and Adam are going to venture away from the safety of Will’s house and dive into the caverns and caches of his past.

 

*

 

Georgia Rae swings her legs off the desk, and saunters, naked, towards Darko, holding out her cell. 

 

“He’s coming,” she informs him, inconvenienced. She slides a silk robe on and meets his gaze. Darko is satisfied with this answer and she hustles out of the office into the dark recesses of the supperclub. 

 

Anxiously, Darko waits, eyes peeled on the security monitors, dreading which Lecter will walk through those doors. He hopes Nigel gets here first. 

 

*

 

Hannibal swings open the door to Jack. 

 

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Hannibal,” Jack declares, sounding anything but. 

 

Hannibal gives a stab at a look of surprise. He is dressed in a white tuxedo and beckons Jack inside. As he takes Jack’s coat, Robertus emerges. Robertus greets him like he’s at court and Jack is a visiting king. 

 

“We were just having cigars in the study. Come,” Robertus beckons. He, too, has on a penguin suit. 

 

“I’m interrupting,” Jack protests, weakly. 

 

“We won’t hear of it. Hannibal tells me you’re doing important work.”

 

Jack selects a cigar out of the box Robertus produces and declines the tumbler of whiskey Hannibal offers him, confirming that this is business. Hannibal takes a seat on the loveseat across from them and waits for Jack to tell him some good news today.

 

“Hannibal told me you were in town, Robertus, and he’d be unavailable. And Will, our other profiler, is in similar circumstances, which is pretty unusual, no? Two sets of families visiting at the same time? Identically different lives,” Jack is babbling, as he is wont to do when he’s at his wit’s end. “I can’t find Will.”

 

Hannibal covers his dismay. If Jack can’t get ahold of him, then this has taken a turn for the worse. 

 

Jack mentions he’s been at 6 different crime scenes over the course of his workday. This level of murder has offended him. Robertus is doing his best not to laugh. The lines around his eyes have wrinkled. He’s not going to hold it together much longer. 

 

Jack is going on, “All of these real estate agents had written predatory loans during the housing crisis and yet were still allowed to practice. There are literally thousands of complaints lodged against them. Too many enemies to suss out. I don’t know whether to cry or applaud the guy who did this.”

 

Robertus eyes Jack’s half-smoked cigar. It looks like a celebration where he’s sitting. He sinks back against the leather chair, deeply satisfied. He sees why Hannibal got addicted to this. It’s fascinating. 

 

“I’m sorry I’m unavailable, Jack,” Hannibal headnods at Robertus. “Family obligations.”

 

“So where are you going in your penguin suits?” Jack asks. 

 

“Robertus owns a restaurant here,” Hannibal reveals. “The Vault.”

 

“In that old Federal bank building?”

 

“That’s the one,” Robertus beams. “I’m afraid we’re going to shut it down.”

 

“In fact, I was going to tell you this tomorrow, but there’s no better time than the present,” Hannibal slips in a crack in his voice. “I’ll have to give notice. I’m afraid Robertus wants me to take on more responsibility with his estate and I’ll be returning to London with him at week’s end.”

 

Jack gasps. This is not what he wants to hear. He glances at Robertus for one sympathetic moment, and then sinks into disbelief.

 

“You ever think about retiring, Jack?” Robertus asks. 

 

“All the time,” Jack smiles. “They say the day you retire and the day you’re born can be the two most stressful days in your life.” 

 

“Each stage of our lives have beginnings and ends,” Hannibal muses. “I’m afraid this stage is rather sudden.”

 

“It is,” sighs Jack. “And what about Will?”

 

Hannibal swallows. Indeed, the question for the ages. He is at a loss and Robertus comes to rescue. 

 

“We want to tell him in person. Hannibal’s meeting with all his clients and giving them referrals over the next few days. Will you call us if you hear from him?”

 

“Of course. Hannibal, you will be missed.”

 

Jack takes in Hannibal’s overwhelmed state and shakes Robertus’ hand in genuine shock. 

 

“I wish you the best, Robertus,” Jack says, as Robertus escorts him to the door. “Hannibal, this isn’t goodbye, my friend.”

 

Not yet, thinks Hannibal. Not until he finds Will. 

 

Robertus returns to the room from seeing off Jack. “Scratch that. We are leaving as soon as possible. This is not sustainable, despite how amusing it is,” warns Robertus. “I don’t want you to end up in jail, Hannibal. Think about it. Is Will worth the risk?”

 

Hannibal isn’t positive he can survive jail, but he certainly cannot survive separation from Will. 

 

“I can’t leave without him,” Hannibal says, plainly. His honesty pauses Robertus’ pacing energy. For the first time today, they both go still.

 

“Then we better find him.”

 

*

 

The Vault actually is a tiered supperclub. An Asian fusion restaurant modeled after a traditional Japanese temple design operates out of the grand main floor, as wide and open as a city block. But in the basement of the club, lit in a blood-red hue, is a club, which houses its own sinister, underworld qualities. This is where Darko reigns. 

Nigel deposits Adam upstairs at a table, and then moves downstairs, where the jankiness ratchets up one hundred fold, snaking past the scantily clad, high class hookers pressed against the wall, the packs of fraternity brothers gawking around the dance floor, plunging down into the pit of his own hell. 

 

*

 

Darko claps his hands down on Nigel’s shoulder, relieved. 

 

“You got my message,” he smiles.

 

“Gotta stop sending those. The person I’m seeing does not appreciate them at all.”

 

“I always get a response from you when I send her,” Darko holds up a whiskey bottle, offering a drink. Nigel declines. He doesn’t want to be here a moment longer. “This person you’re seeing sounds serious.” 

 

“It is. Contact me like that again and next time I see you, I will kick your ass. I’m done with this, Darko, and I don’t want to tell you again,” Nigel clenches his fist. 

 

Darko reads his body language and dismisses it. He has other things on his mind.

 

“Your uncle’s in town. Coming here. Tonight. You wanna tell me why?”

 

Nigel shrugs. It’s not his business. 

 

“I’ve run this place for twenty years,” Darko rushes on. He looks terrified. “He’s never personally shown up here. What can you tell me -- ”

 

“That you’re fucked? Isn’t it obvious, even to you?”

 

Nigel leans his fists onto the desk between them. They are seething at each other, two snakes closing in. 

 

“Why do you think Robertus wants to see you?” Nigel asks.

 

Darko takes one last look at the house of cards he’d built around himself. He can see it all crumbling down. He nods at Nigel to hold on for a second.

 

He taps the intercom button on his phone and the door swings open. A bruiser of a man enters, with a limp, and a scar across his face. Nigel blanches, recognizing him immediately. This is the man he’d almost killed 25 years ago. 

 

As Darko brushes past Nigel, he confirms as much. “Hannibal told me to keep him around. He gives him hypnosis treatment and all kinds of medical support.” 

 

“Made him a guinea pig?” slips Nigel. 

 

Nigel turns away from his victim, disturbed by how slow his movements are, as he places Darko’s “contingency” bag on the table. He does not acknowledge Nigel. 

 

Darko looks between the two. The man is in his own Hannibal-induced fug, and Nigel is consumed by his guilt. 

 

“Nigel, you know Hannibal did this to him. To you. You were just another one of his experiments. His pigs.”

 

Nigel lets that soak in. Was he really responsible for what he’d done all those years ago? That’s what he’d had in common with so many of the men at Jessup – never owning up to the blood on their hands. But all this time, he’d been unable to reconcile the sense he’d been a puppet in the games his uncle and his brother played. 

 

Over the years, he had met a few of Hannibal’s patients. Not all of them had managed to make it to the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, especially earlier on in Hannibal’s career. They’d see him across the yard or in passing to the showers and their eyes would widen with recognition, with fear. No matter what, they’d seek him out, all moth to a flame, telling Nigel how Hannibal had changed them. 

 

Hannibal’s methods improved as he got more adept handling his extracurricular activities. But he had a pattern and Nigel figured he’d been the first of Hannibal’s violent experiments. 

 

The beaten man before him used to own this building. Once upon a time, he’d had the audacity to stand up and refuse Robertus Lecter’s offer to sell this property. Robertus decried this over the dinner table and Hannibal had turned to him with a question – “What are we to do about that?”

 

And the next thing he remembers was letting a flurry of punches on this man that made him sink to the floor with a dull thud. He'd grabbed every weapon he could get ahold of after that. His lack of humanity, even a hint of mercy, would stop him in his tracks over the years. To hear that someone like Darko blamed Hannibal too resonated to Nigel’s soul. 

 

Darko is checking his bag to make sure his money and gun are stashed inside, but Nigel stands frozen, the pieces of his life falling into place around him.

 

“Darko,” Nigel grits out, “we have to get the fuck outta here.” He doesn’t trust himself to be in the same area when Hannibal arrives.

 

Darko flings his bag over his shoulder and takes one last look around his kingdom. They jog out the door, Darko trying to lead Nigel out back. But Nigel insists that he’s not leaving Adam behind.

 

*

 

From a distance, catching sight of Hannibal standing stock-still amongst the perfect feng shui that surrounds him, Robertus suspects that Hannibal can hear the faint beat of the club music emanating from the downstairs rooms. He does not notice the young man with the familiar brown waves sitting next to a vase of cherry blossoms. For Hannibal, adrift by a headful of curls, it is Will for a blurry moment. And his heart sings at the sight. 

 

Hannibal approaches the table and the young man looks up from the bowl of untouched edamame, and at once, two hearts lurch: Adam’s, falling into a suit fetish that overwhelms him every time, and Hannibal’s, realizing the case of mistaken identity. 

 

Hannibal stops in front of Adam’s table. Neither man can read the other. But Adam can sense Hannibal’s displeasure that he’s parked in this fancy restaurant with Nigel’s Wal-Mart blazer draped across his lap. Hannibal glances over his shoulder and nods at Abigail.

 

She is a sight to behold, in a stunning, beaded gown, her hair cascading over one shoulder. She releases Robertus’ elbow and strides downstairs to the club, fumbling in her purse to keep her hand on the gun. 

 

Nigel and Darko are moving fast, running up the ramp leading to the dining rooms. They round one last corner and face Abigail, blocking the area. Her gun peeks out at them from her purse. Darko slows, but Nigel stalks towards her.

 

“Adam’s with us now,” she watches him halt in his tracks. “Hannibal said if I didn’t come back with you…”

 

The panic on her face reminds him of his own. Adam’s life is in his hands. And for that matter, Abigail’s too. Abigail has seen what the Lecters are by now and she has to know she’s in danger if she doesn’t follow their orders. 

 

She lets his imagination run wild, but she doesn’t think Nigel can hurt her. Nigel falters in his resolve to overpower her. She signals for Nigel and Darko to walk in front of her, her gun pointed in Darko’s back. Upstairs, chaos has erupted. Robertus emerges from the kitchen, where there’s a fire raging out of control. The patrons of the restaurant are hustling towards the exits. Panic spreads downstairs and the young and the wicked emerge from the red glow into the amber cast of the street. 

 

In the confusion, amidst the crowd spilling onto the sidewalk, Nigel’s vision swims from the smoke and the worry. Adam must be completely out-of-sorts. If only he could find him.

 

Through the ash and the flickering embers, Nigel sees the original owner fumbling out the exit, staring at the flames licking the windows. His eyes clear out of the haze he’s been in for over two decades. He looks down in his hand at the knife that Hannibal places there. It is a moment of clarity before he weaves through the crowd and locates Darko. He stabs Darko until he slumps down on the sidewalk. It happens so quickly all Nigel can do is grimace, his eyes absorbing how red the killer’s hands are before he blends into the crowd.

 

Sirens scream through the air. He can feel Abigail clutching at his arm and pushing him into the backseat of the Bentley. Robertus is in the driver’s seat. She climbs into the front, her hands shaking as she crosses the belt over herself. They wait, Nigel’s eyes searching the crowd. And then the door flings open. Hannibal slides in beside him, with Adam in tow. Adam looks across at Nigel, high-strung, shaken. 

 

Nigel meets Robertus’ eyes in the rearview mirror. If he hadn’t made himself clear before, he’s made so now. Nigel isn’t going anywhere without his family.

 

*

 

Hannibal contacts Jack in the middle of the night, awakening him and Bella. He describes the burgeoning investigation. The police have been led to believe FBI profilers may be the target of a criminal mastermind. Will’s disappearance and this fire have been labeled suspicious.

 

The full power of the FBI descends on Wolf Trap to locate Will Graham. Hannibal attends the early-morning debriefing. He receives Jack’s condolescenes about the fire and Darko’s death with a detached weariness. 

 

Darko’s nefarious dealings at the club are spread out in the file. His autopsy pictures passed around. The smoke from the building fire had blocked any possibility to capture images from the videocameras around the area. And police cadets were combing Will’s property for any sign of him. He hadn’t used his credit cards, cellphone or driven through any toll roads for over 48 hours. He’d disappeared into thin air, which was a trademark of the syndicate Darko came from. 

 

Adam submits himself to an interview, and again it’s another dead-end. Nigel’s name comes up repeatedly, and Hannibal is prepared to defend him to Jack. 

 

“This is my brother,” Hannibal protests. “He has no reason to lash out at my uncle’s business. At someone close to me.”

 

Nigel passes Adam on the way into the interrogation room, message received to continue playing along if he wants to see Adam again, if he wants to be Outside again. 

 

He glances over the pictures of Darko’s dead body and remains impassive, like he never knew the man and hadn’t spent the weeks of his freedom hanging at his club. For a brief second, he considers what Jack would do if Nigel told him he had the wrong brother in the hot seat. Would anyone take his word over Hannibal’s? 

 

*

 

Hannibal takes a seat across from Franklyn. In the few sessions they’ve had, his influence seems to have extended to Franklyn’s wardrobe too. And his heart. Franklyn gasps when Hannibal informs him that he will be shutting down his practice. With the fire taking a toll on his uncle, he is even more compelled to return to England and have Hannibal take care of his affairs. He hands Franklyn his referral. 

 

The tears in Franklyn’s eyes are drawn as if out of a cartoon. Hannibal extends the tissue box to him. 

 

“It seems selfish for you to only be concerned about your uncle,” Franklyn concludes. “What about your life?”

 

“What about it?” Hannibal asks impatiently, crossing his legs in his chair. Who’s the psychiatrist here?

 

“I saw the article about your uncle and his holdings are extensive. He can’t hire someone to take care of his estate?”

 

Hannibal shrugs, dismissive. “Franklyn, my uncle took care of me when I’m sure it was highly inconvenient on his life. I’m merely returning the favor.”

 

This gives Franklyn pause. He tries another tact. 

 

“If I told you I didn’t want you to go, would you stay?” Franklyn really puts himself out there. Hannibal blinks, unsure if he heard him correctly. 

 

“Franklyn – “ Hannibal is about to launch into how ridiculous and pedestrian Franklyn’s crush is on him when Franklyn crosses the space between them and wraps his arms around him. Franklyn hugs him, tightly. 

 

“I know how inappropriate this is,” Franklyn waves away any of Hannibal’s protests. “But I had to know what it felt like to touch you. Sometimes, for people like me, we have to steal the memories we want.”

 

Franklyn smashes his lips against Hannibal, even slipping in some tongue. Hannibal pulls his head back and gazes at Franklyn. He has lost what little respect he had for him. 

 

“We’re not going to discuss this, Franklyn,” commands Hannibal, “because you’re going to leave before I call the police.”

 

Franklyn’s head recoils, as if struck. It dawns on him that Hannibal wants nothing to do with him. He scurries to his feet, mumbling apologies, the door slamming behind him on his way out.

 

Hannibal wipes his mouth with a tissue. Not how he expected that session to go. His hair falls in his face and he brushes it back. It may be good to look less put-together after the week he’s been through. He rises, loosening his tie. It’s safe to say that Will is not going to make his appointed time. And with this unscheduled break, he can do something for himself. 

 

*

 

Nigel’s eyes feel like they’ve been leaking ever since the fire. He knows that he’s doing the right thing, but it’s still hard. 

 

He had a long talk with Robertus and Robertus made some calls on Adam’s behalf. Adam will be going to Florida to work in some capacity for NASA and Nigel will be returning with his family to England. Some dreams are worth more than others. And Adam’s stands a better chance than his dream of seeing if they can spend the rest of their lives together.

 

Nigel reassures Adam that he will crush the interview with NASA. 

 

He drives Adam to the airport and goes over the best responses to standard interview questions for the last time. He wants Adam to forget about the other interview he had with Jack and the FBI. That rattled Adam, to the core. Nigel would do everything in his power to prevent him from going through that again. 

 

“Why don’t you come with me?” Adam swings back to the other thing that rubs him. 

 

“Because you don’t need me for this,” insists Nigel. “You’re brilliant and gorgeous and exceptional.”

 

“So this is actually goodbye?” Adam presses for an answer. Everything has been such a whirlwind. He’s lived a lifetime in the past 24 hours alone. No matter what happens in Florida, they could build a life together. If that’s something Nigel wants. But he doesn’t know what Nigel wants. He can’t tell and Nigel isn’t telling him. Why won’t Nigel say?

 

“What does this mean, for us, that your face seems so closed to me now? Did I do something wrong?”

 

Nigel brushes his hand away when Adam reaches to wipe his leaking eyes. He sees Adam scanning his features and so he throws in a smile. 

 

“Fuck, Adam, c’mon,” Nigel pushes him towards the security line. “It’s no contest between me and NASA. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and those don’t come around again. You can’t worry about me, darling. You have your whole life in front of you.”

 

He places the Wal-Mart bowtie in Adam’s palm. Something to remember him by. Adam’s not so sure he knows what he wants anymore in his life. He doesn’t let go of the bowtie, even when he goes through security.

 

Nigel discovers that somehow he’d made his way to the parking space where Abigail is waiting in his rental car. He thinks he blacked out when they parted at the security terminal. His mind making sure he kept his end of the bargain. In a way, it’s a relief. One less thing to obsess about when it comes to Adam.

Abigail’s staring at him drifting around the parking lot. Nigel’s impressed with her. She’s picked up the basic rule quickly – just do what they tell you. And maybe, just maybe, they’ll let you live.

 

They don’t speak on the ride back to Hannibal’s house.

 

*

 

Hannibal arrives at Bedelia’s doorstep without his full-metal façade on. She would’ve read about his family’s tragedy by now and would appreciate the emergency appointment before he does something rash, like hunt Franklyn down and cut out his lascivious tongue. 

 

She swings open the door, eyebrows raised. She looks over his shoulder and then at him. She half-smiles at him. 

 

“Hannibal,” she announces. Except she doesn’t step aside. 

 

He takes it that she hasn’t seen the headlines. She admits she hasn’t. They are at an impasse. She goes to get her calendar. Now is just a bad time for her. 

 

With the door left open, the draft carries her scent through. It washes over him and there’s no mistaking it. He would know Will’s smell anywhere. 

 

He looks her over as she flips the calendar to the right week and grapples with the rage that fills his chest. He had called out the FBI and practically drew a map for them to lead to Robertus’ criminal enterprise all in the name of saving Will. 

 

He lets her go through the motions of selecting another day and time for their appointment. It’s for the best. He’s already been ambushed himself. Not point of transferring his anger to her without the facts. 

 

And then he sees Will’s Volvo, a few houses down the street. 

 

As Hannibal scrambles to figure out how Will ended up here, he also realizes it would not be effective to confront her in this moment. He needs to weigh the consequences of her death. 

 

They say their goodbyes and Hannibal turns to go. Just as Bedelia is about to close the door, he whips back, using his foot as a doorstop, stalking his way towards her and she is backing up, trembling like a leaf. She steps aside as he pushes his way inside. She chases after him, ignoring her fists brushing along his back. 

 

He strides through the house, looking for him. 

 

“Where is he?” 

 

He opens every door until he finally sees him, sitting up on the bed, the straps obscenely draped around him. Hannibal looks back at her and she shrinks from his gaze. 

 

Will is drifting out of a catatonic state, his eyes open but fixed on the scene outside his window. Hannibal stares at her. He wants to rip Bedelia apart. He controls his voice as best as he can. 

 

“How long has he been like this?”

 

“Since the day he chose to come to me and not you.” She watches Hannibal shudder. She steps towards him, tables turning. He backs up. “I told you to stop whatever you were doing to him.”

 

“What have you done to him, Bedelia?”

 

“I could ask the same of you, Hannibal. I could hand your head in a jar to Alana Bloom with -- ”

 

“What did you send to Alana Bloom?”

 

“You’re paranoid. And obsessed. And I stuck my neck out for you to put an end to whatever fantasy you have with this man.”

 

“Versus the fantasy you have about us, Bedelia?”

 

For a moment, Bedelia is stunned into silence. She swings her eyes up to his. She snorts with derision. 

 

“You have delighted in our association. Tortured yourself with drawing me closer to you. To become, as they say, my “ride or die”. How’s the book coming?”

 

Now he has her attention. Hannibal lasers into her fear, nostrils flaring with pleasure. 

 

“Have you written my ending yet?”

 

Bedelia sneers at him. “I think he has.”

 

She steps aside as Will gathers himself to his feet. Bedelia lets Will brace against her as he steadies himself. He smiles down at her, grateful. 

 

“You can go now, Will, as promised. Your week is up and you’ve made… incredible progress,” analyzes Bedelia.

 

Will’s lips form in a grimace. As usual, he suffers from ambivalence. He does feel rested and well-fed. He doesn’t want to go home. And Hobbs has been gone for several days. He leans into her, reluctant to leave her side. 

 

“You’re free to go,” Bedelia encourages Will again. She glares at Hannibal, firm in her belief that she stands on the higher moral ground. 

 

Will registers that Hannibal is close. He blinks, the confusion bleeding through the haze. 

 

“It looks like you could use some air, Will. Shall we?” Hannibal glances back at Bedelia as Will walks through Bedelia’s door. 

 

Will and Hannibal walk side by side, Will clinging to his elbow. He soaks in the sunshine. The way the world has continued to spin while he has been squirreled away. He evaluates his state of mind, approaching each moment more and more like his own than Hobbs’ now. It’s a good day. 

 

Will is reminded to go into “save” mode and becomes protective as he reads Hannibal’s barely-there displeasure. “I don’t want you to be mad at Bedelia. If there’s any tension, it should be directed at me, Hannibal,” Will steals a glance at him, and catches the exasperation that lines Hannibal’s face. 

 

“I have to admit, I don’t understand – If I hadn’t’ve gone over for an appointment, by chance, mind you, would you have told me?” Hannibal’s brief flash of simmering, quiet anger stirs something in Will.

 

“My head’s been spinning since Minnesota… I wouldn’t call it a nervous breakdown… definitely not that serious, but… probably a mild psychotic break, definitely,” babbles Will. 

 

“Will,” Hannibal raises his voice and it cuts through Will’s rambling monologue. “Everyone has been looking for you. The FBI. Jack and Alana, worried sick. You left your cousin, who came all the way out here to visit you, alone. You can’t behave like this.”

 

He circles Will, like a gathering storm. Their eyes meet, both a deadly nightshade. 

 

“I care about you, and you ran to a stranger, in, what I assume, a desperate time of need. You sent a very clear message – “

 

“That was not my intention,” Will insists.

 

“No? I’m listening.”

 

They stand in the middle of the street, slinging hurt looks between them. 

 

“I didn’t go to Bedelia to change. I don’t have the energy for something so grand. I hope you can understand that, Hannibal.”

 

“Then why?”

 

“Why?” Will settles on this, as if for the first time. “I came here to be by myself.”

 

“To be alone. With her?”

 

Hannibal glances back at the house, tempted to take care of that issue post-haste. With Hannibal’s head turned, Will drinks in the sharp profile, so perfect in the dying afternoon light. Prisms of light dance around Hannibal, like an aura. He’s aglow. 

 

Will swallows and reaches for that face. His eyes skim over the heated features. 

 

Hannibal’s flashing eyes.

 

His plump lips. 

 

The scar bordering the bridge of his nose. 

 

He is breathtakingly beautiful. A face that men and women can admire and love. 

 

Hannibal feels the caress of Will’s eyes on his face before his actual touch. They hold each other in a gaze that could be akin to intimacy. But Hannibal’s experience is limited in this, and therefore, he is unsure. Will, equally so.

 

Will takes a breath. “From the moment I saw you, I’ve been utterly captivated by you. Your mind. Your associations. Your acceptance. Talking with you has been the best time I’ve ever had. I think I’ve fallen in love with you. And I’m not expecting you to respond or return the sentiment. At all. But it’s the reason why I didn’t – I didn’t want you to see me like this. I wanted you to know, but I didn’t want to be the one to tell you. Cowardly, I know.”

 

Disarmed, Hannibal nods, letting his silence draw out Will. Will’s fingers stroke downward from Hannibal’s jawline to his shoulders. He rests his hands there before withdrawing. He holds his hands behind his back, maintaining a stance of complete openness before Hannibal, but just out of reach.

“I’ve spent a lot of time this week trying to figure us out. Dressed up with nowhere to go,” Will sighs. 

 

A current courses between them. Hannibal holds himself on his side of the line in the street and Will remains on his. For a blurring moment, one of them falters, crossing. Their silhouettes immerse in each other, merging from a hard kiss, a passionate embrace. 

 

“Where do you want to go, Will?” Hannibal croaks out. 

 

Will straddles the two roads before him. He knows himself. He knows the cost of denial – his happiness. The life that awaits him at home. He takes a breath and makes his decision. 

 

“Yes.”


End file.
